Unwell
by SocksForDobby
Summary: Severus Snape thought that his name was cleared after the end of the War, never thinking that the lifelong punishment of slavery handed to Death Eaters would be extended to him. Nevertheless, he was strong. He wouldn't break. SS/HP. Winner of DH award!
1. Book One: A Stale Start

**Title:** _Unwell_  
**Summary:** Severus Snape thought that his name was cleared after the end of the War, never thinking that the lifelong punishment of slavery handed to Death Eaters would be extended to him. Nevertheless, he was strong. He wouldn't break. SS/HP. Winner of a DH award!  
**Rating:** for angst, language, violence, gore and sexual situations.  
**Beta**: Greenling (first 1/3)

**Image cover credit**: buukkin's fan art  
**Warnings:** Will have some slash, though not flowery or OOC. Much is non-consensual. This story is quite dark and depressing.  
**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

* * *

**Book One  
Chapter One**  
**"A Stale Start"**

Severus Snape took his seat at the Head table with grace. He was a proud man. He was wearing the same black robes it seemed he wore every day.

He absent-mindedly pushed a lock of greasy hair out of his eyes. To his left, Minerva McGonagall, now Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, chuckled. "Not nervous now, are we, Severus?"

"Of course not." He grumbled. "Why should I be nervous? I have only been teaching for eighteen years. Why? Indeed."

Minerva just smiled, placing a hand over Severus' cold thin one. She had known Severus for many years, and was one of the few that could see past the cold and vindictive mask he put assumed. "The students will not think any less of you for the events that happened last year."

"I assure you, they could not." Severus snapped. "Not that I care – the more students are afraid of me, the less I have to deal with-"

The doors of the Great Hall opened and students began flooding in, all dressed in black robes that were identical, save their House colours on the underside of their hoods. Of all ages, shapes, and sizes, the twelve-through-eighteen-year-olds appeared excited to be back at school, and seemed to have shed any bad memories of what had happened in the Great Hall just months before. That is, some seemed to have forgotten. Others were just hiding it well.

Severus could read people well. He always had been able to. A trait of a child with an abusive father, he supposed. He had learned at a young age to tell how much his father had had to drink, or what he was thinking. Now, Severus had very good Legilimency skills, and could probe into people's minds at will. He did not usually bother to look into his students' minds though – there was not enough in there to look through.

"Potter is here." Minerva murmured.

"So I've seen." Severus sniffed. The short, black-haired boy stood calmly at the Gryffindor table, chatting with his Weasley friend. He caught Severus' eye and, to Severus' surprise, nodded in greeting. Severus ignored him.

He had never liked the Potter boy. Severus had gone to school with his father, James, and they had hated each other – Severus had never done anything to James to make him hate him, but Severus had had good reason to hate James. James, along with his best friends, had played pranks on him and embarrassed in just about every way possible. As if that were not enough, James married Lily Evans, whom Severus had loved. Only two years later, Lily and James had died – Severus would never forgive James for marrying Lily, and for not protecting her from the Dark Lord. And he hated Harry for being a replica of the man he despised. Hero, indeed.

James and Lily's son was the spitting image of James, except for the eyes. Harry had his mother's eyes. Hidden behind glasses, they shone a bright emerald green. Severus often found himself staring into those eyes and thinking of Lily, before snapping out of his daze.

He was well aware of the jokes surrounding those moments. The remarks were never too loud, though, for the student did not want Severus to hear. Nevertheless, he always did – he had very sharp ears. He was equally as aware of the jokes about his greasy hair, but those jokes never bothered him. If "slimy git" were the worst thing he was ever called, he would be much luckier than most.

The doors of the Great Hall burst open again. Hagrid, the half giant, was leading in a bunch of first-years. Tiny and scared to death, usually in brand-new robes, the first-years were all the same.

Severus gave them a hard stare, and enjoyed seeing most of them look away in fear. There was little better in his job than scaring first-years. He got sparse enjoyment from his job as Potions teacher, and whilst he loathed students, he actually enjoyed the teaching itself. He still wanted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job – he had gotten a taste of it before, but wanted to do it _his_ way, and not under the eyes of the corrupted Ministry.

He liked how Potions was precise – if you stirred this root with that weed clockwise thirty-three times, you would get the same Potion every time. It was something that was true, that always stayed the same. One never had to worry that four Leeches, sixteen scruples of Fluxweed and fifteen blades of Knotgrass, and certain other things, would not result in Polyjuice Potion. It would be. It _had_ to be. It was relatively simple. People were relatively simple as well – wizard, witch, or Muggle, humans did not realize how _boringly_ predictable they were.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Sylvester Malinghan, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor asked.

"Look at them." Severus said. "They are just the same – every single one of them. The first-years are just like the seventh and eighth-years were at their age."

"They _are_ children, Professor." Professor Malinghan reminded the Potions Master. "Surely-"

"Look at that small one." Severus interrupted as if Professor Malinghan had not even spoken. "That second-year, in Hufflepuff. Watch her. She is about to look over at the Slytherin table and grin."

Professor Malinghan set his eyes on a petite black-haired girl who indeed glanced over at the Slytherin table and grinned.

"Now she will whisper something in her friend's ear, and look up towards our table."

The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher watched in amazement as the young girl did exactly that.

"And that was _without_ the use of Legilimency." Severus shrugged.

* * *

The Sorting began. Professor Malinghan did not have a chance to reply to the black-haired man beside him. He wanted to pay attention to the Sorting, but had trouble doing so.

_How in the name of Merlin did he do that?_ Professor Malinghan had heard many rumours about Severus Snape: that he was a Death Eater, that he was a bat, that he was a criminal, that he was a vampire... but had been assured that they were all false. However, he had been warned that the professor was ornery, and no one with whom he had spoken had even attempted to refute that.

* * *

Just as things began to calm down in the Great Hall, students properly Sorted and food on the tables, the large doors of the Great Hall swung open. Three Aurors came in. Severus stood and brandished his wand on reflex. Nearly every other staff member stood as well, though concealing his or her weapons. The Great Hall, normally full of chatter and laughter, fell silent.

"We're here to find Severus Snape." An Auror announced in a thick accent. "'Professor' Severus Snape."

_What? Why?_ Severus kept his expression carefully guarded, as he did at all times. He often had little control over events, but he could control his reaction to them. If he never showed emotion, that he was happy, angry, or surprised, he was not weak.

Severus caught the eye of the lead Auror. "Ah, Mr. Snape." He pointed his wand at Severus, the other two Aurors following suit. "Stringy black hair, pale, on edge... I think we've found our man." He chuckled.

"May I help you?" Severus said coldly. He hated to be the centre of attention and to be so in front of students was even worse. _What could they _possibly _want? Surely if they needed me to serve as a witness at someone's trial, they would have Owled or-_

"Lower your wand, Mr. Snape." The Auror ordered. "You are under arrest by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a branch of the British Ministry for Magic."

"Am I?" Severus challenged, not lowering his wand, ignoring the strangled gasps from around the Hall. "Under what charges?"

The Auror smiled menacingly. "For conspiring with You-Know-Who, and consequently, for multiple murders, rapes, and use of all three Unforgiveables."

At those words, Severus saw Potter jump to his feet, aiming his wand at the Aurors. "He did no such thing!" Potter yelled in Severus' defence. "He-"

"Thank you, Mr. Potter." Severus said, using a calm monotone voice. However, he felt anything but calm. "I see. However, I am sure you have made a mistake, Mr...?"

"You will call me 'sir' and 'sir' only." The Auror sneered. "We have a warrant for your arrest. Come along with us, now – we haven't all day."

"I am sure that you have received the necessary papers from the late Professor Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt?" Severus inquired. "I assure you, I have been cleared of all-"

"_Petrificus Totalus_." The Auror said simply, before Severus could react.

Severus felt his legs come tightly together and stiffen, his arms coming to his sides in an equally rigid position. He immediately fell to the floor, stiff as a board, hitting his head on a chair on his way down.

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...****  
****Chapter Two: **_**A Life Altered**_


	2. A Life Altered

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

**Chapter Two  
"A Life Altered"**

* * *

_They came into the Great Hall... I was speaking of something and then... what happened after that? _Severus closed his eyes tightly, trying to remember what had happened.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, he shifted position. Though his hands were secured behind his back and the light in the room hurt his head too much to open his eyes, he could assess the situation. He was in a wooden chair. His hands were tied to the back of the chair, as he could not move them at all. He was unable to move his legs as well – he could feel a rope or bracket around each of his ankles.

The pain in his head was horrendous. Not a dull ache, but a throbbing pain that felt like knives stabbing into his skull. Severus tried to open his eyes, but the bright light in the room hurt too badly. One eye was crusted shut with dried blood.

Taking a deep shaky breath, Severus tried to stand up, failing. He was tied too tightly to the chair to move. His robes did not make him any more comfortable, the fabric twisted, restricting much movement in the small chair.

"Ah... Severus Snape." Severus jumped at the deep voice.

"What is it that you want?" Severus rasped. His throat was drier than it had been in a long time.

"Just a confession and you will be out of here before you know it." The man said. "Were you or were you not working for You-Know-Who?"

_No! Dumbledore left behind proof of my loyalty... Shacklebolt is the Minister for Magic... _"I was not." Severus stated. "The Dark Lord thought I was, but in reality, I was working against him. I used my supposed status as a Death Eater to gain inside information. I did not-"

"-but is it not true that from 1978 through a majority of 1980, you were a follower of You-Know-Who?" The man pressed.

Severus hoped his face was as guarded as he would like. That statement was true. Completely true, but he had hoped that he had redeemed himself in the years that had followed. "Where is it that you get your information?" He answered with another question.

"That is irrelevant." The man stated. "Answer the question, Mr. Snape. There will be no getting out of this – you are wandless and I am not beyond using torture to get a confession out of you."

"I would like to speak to the Minister for Magic." Severus stated. "He is a friend of mine." 'Friend' was not an accurate description of their relationship, but it would do.

The man snorted. "That's what they all say."

"So what if I was?" Severus challenged. "What would you do to me? Send me to Azkaban?" Severus was not afraid of Azkaban the way most Death Eaters were. True, he really did not want to go, but if he were sent, he would find a way to die before long. There were worse things to endure.

"Are you saying that you did work for You-Know-Who?" The man interrogated. "We have three men who were under the _Imperius _curse. They have testified that you indeed worked for You-Know-Who. That you were his right-hand man, so to speak."

"And who are these three men?" Snape refused to admit that he, in foolishness, had joined up with the Dark Lord for two years, before changing sides, about which the Dark Lord had never known.

"What is it to you?" The man growled. "Just answer the question!"

They turned in circles, figuratively, for hours. Severus was beginning to feel exhausted, but he did not let down his emotional or Occlumency guard.

_If I say 'yes', they will send me to Azkaban. _Severus mulled over his options. _However, I am saying 'no', and they do not believe me!_

"Give me some Veritaserum!" Severus shouted hoarsely hours later, his one eye wide open, the other still crusted shut from the blood of the wound on his head. "I will prove it to you! I will tell you that I was nothing but a spy!" He shook his head desperately. "If you want the truth, I will tell you!"

"Death Eaters have been known to lie through Veritaserum." The interrogator reminded Severus. "Nothing will get you out of this one, Mr. Snape. We have too reliable of sources to-"

"Who are your sources?" Severus willed himself not to struggle against the bonds that held him to his chair. If he did, it would be a sign of weakness and defeat. "If you want names of Death Eaters, I can give you a whole list of names! I already have before! Nicholas Vance, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Monique Hagen, Barty Crouch, Jr..." he paused. "Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Lucas Plading, Lucius Malfoy!" Severus shook his head. "I have hundreds of names of Death Eaters, dead and alive, from dozens of countries!"

"And you will give us that list." The man said, a smile on his face. "After we go through the appropriate measures necessary to punish you. After all, you have given us proof that you were a Death Eater – how else would you know those names?"

_Merlin!_ Severus was Head of Slytherin House – he did not make mistakes like that. He always managed to evade the truth. However, after hours of interrogation, he had faltered. "I was his right-hand, his favourite Death Eater, but I was not really a Death Eater. He thought I was, but I was a spy for the Light, as Minster Shacklebolt has surely informed you."

"Sure." The man drawled out. "Those names you gave us, Goyle, Crabbe and Malfoy? They are all alive and well, you realize. The _Imperius_ curse has left its scars, of course, but with time, perhaps they will get their lives back in order."

Severus' mouth dropped open. He was too tired to stop it from doing so. "Lucius?" He rasped. "That bastard is one of your 'reliable sources'?"

He felt a slap across his cheek. "Yes!" The man said. "We have looked into his memories with a Pensieve – so many thoughts and memories show you placing inappropriate curses on people and-"

"The Dark Lord taught him how to show you select memories and false memories!" Severus shouted. "The Dark Lord taught his servants many tricks and Dark Magic! He-"

"That is untrue!" The man slapped Severus again – hard. "Using made-up memories in a Pensieve is impossible! _Silencio_!"

_How is it possible that such idiotic dunderheads can possibly run our world? _Severus wondered, not for the first time in the past eight hours of interrogation (he could tell by the oversized pocket watch the interrogator wore).

The Auror questioning Severus turned on his heel and marched away, securing Severus in the small locked room alone. Alone and too exhausted to plot how to get his way out.

* * *

Time stood still in that room. With the walls painted white, no windows or clocks to speak of, with no one in there other than Severus, time did not move. Severus could not tell how long he had been there after the interrogator left – it could have been five hours or five days.

_What is happening to me? Surely, this is all a mistake. I am not a criminal. I do not deserve this. _Severus was not a conceited or vain man, but nor was he overly modest. He had made many mistakes in his life, but he had also suffered through a lot. He deserved the life he had, the tedious teaching, the obnoxious students, the lack of a partner or family.

He had killed people when working for the Dark Lord, but never in cold blood. And unlike all the other Death Eaters, he had never enjoyed it. And whilst many of the Death Eaters did not kill the women right away, but would rape and then kill them, Severus had never done that. The idea had always sickened him. Severus did what he had to do to survive when he was working for the Dark Lord, and since 1981, had shown compassion to any victim of the Dark Lord's whenever possible. He had even managed to help a few Death Eaters run away, and let countless victims escape, all under the Dark Lord's nose, without the Dark Lord ever suspecting.

He had been convinced over the years that there had been enough redemption to spare him. Dumbledore had assured him that he would not get in trouble with the Ministry, that the Ministry would learn the truth and forgive him. Dumbledore had had it all planned. Apparently, Dumbledore had not taken into account Lucius Malfoy, who could worm his way out of anything, even if it meant selling out a fellow Slytherin.

_I am scared, _Severus realized with shock. Severus had known fear in his thirty-eight years – plenty of fear – but had never had time to dwell on it as he was now. He had never been afraid of something he was helpless to fix. When he had realized that Lily was going to die, he had had only moments to be afraid before he realized that it had happened. When he was going to be killed by Nagini, he had only had seconds to think on it before Potter had stunned the snake. He had never had hours to actually consider the horrible situation he was in, and now that he did... it was unpleasant.

His stomach felt like it was turning inside out. His teeth hurt. He wanted to vomit, but he could not show his fear outwardly. Some people had trouble hiding their emotions, but not Severus. Severus had trouble showing them. And he hated to show them, because that was what people wanted to see. The Aurors were intent on seeing Severus suffer, and Severus would not give them that joy. He refused.

"Why, Severus Snape..." Lucius Malfoy's voice jerked Severus out of his thoughts. Severus immediately Occluded his mind, to make sure no one could penetrate. For the most private part of his body was his brain, and he would protect it all costs.

"Malfoy." Severus spat. Or tried to. No sound came out of his mouth.

_The interrogator put a silencing charm on me_, Severus had forgotten. He not going to continue to try to talk. Struggling against binds he could not possibly escape would only give the Aurors and Lucius Malfoy happiness. A sick sort of happiness, that he would not give them.

He glared up at Lucius. Tall and pale, his blonde hair cascaded past his shoulders. His steel grey eyes looked down at Severus, his head held high. An amused smirk rested on his face.

"You never thought it would happen, did you?" He hissed at Severus, who stared back, not blinking. That had a tendency to unnerve people, and that was exactly what Severus wanted to do to Lucius. If he couldn't use his words to insult him, he could use his eyes.

"Ah, but you are not amused?" Lucius continued to taunt. "Perhaps this will amuse you – I am here to see your punishment take place, Severus Snape. That's right – my reward for assisting in the capture of one of You-Know-Who's most violent sidekicks – aside from more Galleons than you have ever seen – is getting to watch you suffer."

Severus had seen many people receive the Dementor's Kiss before and whilst he knew it was a horrible fate, he took comfort in the fact that the misery only lasted a short while.

"I had a long discussion with the Head of the Auror Office," Lucius continued. "It seems that he agrees that Azkaban is not such a terrible punishment any longer, not as it was before, and so would not suit a Death Eater. A true Death Eater needs to suffer, not die or lose his mind. He must really _feel_ the pain."

_Hypocrite, _Severus thought, angrily. _If anyone was a true Death Eater, it was you. _Truth be told, Lucius had not been well-liked by the Dark Lord, who seemed to sense his hypocritical attitude, but Lucius had honestly believed all of the beliefs the Dark Lord had fed him, about killing off Muggle-borns and such. If that did not make a true Death Eater, Severus didn't know what did.

Lucius grabbed Severus' chin and jerked his head up, forcing Severus to look at him. "So what punishment did he decide on? What do you think, Severus?"

_Being under the Imperius curse? _Severus wondered. The _Imperius _curse forced people to follow orders. Those under that particular Unforgivable were in their right minds whilst under it, so if one were told to sit on a bed of nails, even if their mind screamed "no!", they would still sit down on it without question. Severus had it placed on him many times, in order to learn how to fight it.

_Or perhaps rotting in jail somewhere else? A concentrated Cruciatus? _Severus tried to think of a punishment that the Ministry would deal out. In the past, it had been warnings, suspending of magic, a normal prison or Azkaban. How would they punish a 'Death Eater', if not in Azkaban?

"We're ready for him." An Auror stepped into the room.

"Finally." Lucius dropped Severus' chin. "Finally, we'll see some justice for all those lives lost." His eyes flashed angrily at Severus. "That _you_ took."

Severus had to hand it to Lucius – he sure knew how to put on a show. Then again, he was a Slytherin. Most Slytherins knew how to make up a lie and tell it well, and if they didn't, they quickly learned.

The Auror waved his wand and uttered a spell, freeing Severus from his restraints. He then pointed his wand at Severus in a threatening way. "We have Aurors positioned outside this door, down this hall... all over this building. If you dare try anything, you will be punished for that as well. Understood?"

_Yes – so no matter what, I am being punished. However, they won't kill me, because that would be too easy._

The man stuck his wand into Severus' cheek in a menacing way. "Understood, scum?" He growled.

Severus had not heard the man release him from the silencing charm, and he was not about to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him struggle against it. He merely nodded as a response, angry that he had just responded to the title of "scum".

_But what else can you do? _He reminded himself as he was led out of the room. True to the Auror's words, the hall was filled with Aurors, all with wands pointed at Severus. _The last thing you need to do is make them angrier._

He wished he could say something to appease them, to perhaps talk his way out of the situation. However, he had never been one to talk his way out situations, Slytherin or not. He was cunning and clever, but talking his way out of situations had never been his strength. He had no charm. He always preferred not being caught over having to worm his way out of consequences.

He was led into a small room, flooded with Ministry officials, Aurors, and reporters. Nowhere did Severus see Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Where is the Minister?" He demanded. His words were not heard as the silencing charm was indeed still in effect.

_Does Shacklebolt even know what is going on? _Severus wondered as he was led to the front of the room. Shacklebolt _does not like me, but he will not allow this – whatever it is – to happen. Shacklebolt knows where my loyalties lie. And he knows that Lucius Malfoy was _not _under the _Imperius _curse in any way!_ For once in his life, Severus was desperate to see the man.

"On your knees, scum!" The Auror who had led him to the room snarled.

Severus looked around the room. All the reporters stood, quills in hand, waiting for Severus' response. The flashbulbs of cameras were going off. Aurors looked expectantly at Severus, some angry, some excited, some even appeared bored. Severus did not look at Lucius Malfoy, but knew even so that the man looked smug at Severus' situation, likely proud that he was responsible for putting Severus in such an awful situation for betraying the Dark Lord.

The ironic part was that Lucius was getting out of the punishment he deserved unscathed.

"On your knees!" The man screamed at him.

_No._ Severus glared at the man. _I will not get on my knees. That is the equivalent of bowing. Of bowing to you, your colleagues, these reporters... I will not._ Kneeling in someone's presence was reserved for being in the presence of a very important person. One might bow to a powerful wizard, such as the Dark Lord or even... Potter, but Severus would never do it again. He had only bowed to the Dark Lord to save the world (although Potter got sole credit) and would never bow to another breathing being again. He had dignity and self-respect that he fully intended on keeping.

Two Aurors stepped forward. One began forcefully pushing down on Severus' shoulders while the other kicked Severus in the back of the knees – Severus fell down in a kneeling position with a loud _thud!_

Severus resisted the urge to cry out, although his cries would not be heard due to the silencing spells anyhow. Being pushed to his knees with such force was very painful. At thirty-eight, Severus was still young for a wizard, but his body had seen much trauma in those years. He did not know how much force his knees could take.

"Bow your head, hands crossed behind your back, knees spread apart!" The man barked.

A chill ran up Severus' spine as he tried to remember. He had read something on this once. Something about being in that uncomfortable position seemed familiar. He had never done it before, but he had read about it or heard about it... On his knees, his bent legs spread as far as possible, bowed head with hands behind his back... where had he read of that before?

A man, not an Auror, but from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the Being Division, began to read out a scroll in a clear voice.

"Severus Tobias Snape, under the charges of murder, rape, following You-Know-Who faithfully for twenty years, amongst other charges, is convicted and sentenced to a lifetime of servitude to the Wizarding population."

_Servitude? Merlin!_ Severus knew that none of his surprise or horror was showing on his face and for that, he was grateful. The last thing he needed was for the reporters to have a picture of him breaking down to put on the cover of _The Daily Prophet. Servitude? As in slavery? I cannot – I will not!_ He tried to stand up in protest, but was shoved back down by the Aurors standing at his side.

"Your rights as a slave are few." The man continued. "You must do anything and everything any wizard tells you to do, unless specifically told not to by your current owner. You will refer to your owners as "Master" or "Mistress" and every other being above you as told. You will not earn an income, but anything you do earn will be turned over to your owner. In addition, anything you currently own or may be given in the future is the property of your owner. If given permission, you may use the items, but you do not own anything. You can make no important decisions for yourself. You must submit yourself to any punishment chosen for you, whether or not you consider it to be justified. You have no legal status, except as property, and may not sign any legally binding contracts, unless given written permission by your owner. You may not get married, nor may you reproduce without permission from your owner. Failure to comply with any of these rules can and will result in punishment from your owner, in any way your owner deems acceptable. If you attempt to harm your master, you will be killed instantly by the Enslavement curse..."

Severus was beginning to feel numb inside. He could scarcely pay attention to the list being read to him, much less the people surrounding him, staring and whispering. Slave? Owner? It did not make sense. Severus understood that, unlike in the Muggle world where slavery was illegal in most advanced and modern countries, it was perfectly legal in the Wizarding world. Most people resorted to the use of House Elves, for they were easier to manage, having little will of their own, and were smaller, so easier to feed and punish, and much more magical than your average wizard. However, human slaves were not unheard of.

The man reading from the scroll held his wand to Severus' temple. Made of elm, roughly twelve inches long, Severus tried not to flinch away at its touch.

_Think of a way out..._he could not think of how to escape such a situation. Without his wand, without being able to run away, what was he to do? He had never felt so helpless, never.

The man began to utter a string of words, French words that Severus did not understand. Contrary to what the Muggles believed, Latin was not a dead language, and several powerful wizards spoke it fluently, Severus included. However, French had never seemed essential to learn. Now he wished he knew what was being said in this ancient French spell.

Just as the man finished speaking, Severus felt a burning pain in his forehead. Nearly unbearable. It felt just as bad – or worse – than a concentrated Cruciatus. Not that Severus had ever experienced a concentrated Cruciatus – but he had experienced a normal one and this pain was worse. He could not breathe, or think... it took everything he had not to move, to keep from writhing on the floor and screaming. It felt like knives cutting his forehead open, stabbing his forehead. It was like being branded with hot rods all over his forehead. Only practice at keeping his emotions hidden prevented Severus from screaming for death, just to rid himself from the pain.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Severus fell the rest of the way to the ground, exhausted from the seconds of pain. Because really, that was how long it had lasted. Seconds, thirty seconds at most. However, it had felt like hours. Hours of excruciating pain.

The two Aurors jerked Severus to his feet. "Are we correct to assume that he can now be taken to Nigel Mering?" One Auror asked the man from the Being Division.

The man nodded. "If the collar is in hand, yes."

With a firm grip on Severus, one of the man Disapparated, taking a frightened Severus with him to Merlin-only-knew-where.

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...****  
****Chapter Three: **_**Welcome To Hell**_


	3. Welcome to Hell

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

**Chapter Three  
"Welcome to Hell"**

* * *

Severus disliked Apparating with people. He preferred to use his own magic, his own wand... he hated relying on other people. When Apparating with others, you ran the risk of getting lost, splinched, or worse. He had been Apparating on his own, without even a minor incident, for twenty-one years.

They were outside a house. The house was on the large side, with three stories. It looked to be old and not well-maintained, for it needed to be repainted, the yard weeded, the shingles and shutters reattached.

The Auror waved his wand, taking the silencing charm off of Severus. "Listen, _slave,_" he sneered. "If you know what's good for you, you will behave here. You will say 'yes, sir' when prompted and nothing more. You will do whatever you are told by whoever asks. Understood?"

Severus clenched his fists. "I will do what I please, regardless of any orders."

The Auror slapped him – hard – across the cheek. "Don't you _dare_ speak to me that way!" He shouted. "Need I put the silencing charm back on you?"

"You might." Severus said vaguely, earning him another slap. He didn't care. He was _not_ about to stoop to the level of a slave. He felt so vulverable without his wand, however even if he had it, he could not hex the Auror – whether the Auror counted as his master or not, he did not know, but Severus was not a Gryffindor. He would not take his chances.

To Severus' surprise, the Auror began to chuckle. "Ah, you will lose your little attitude soon enough." He began to march towards the front door, his strong hand gripped around the nape of Secerus' neck, and his wand pointed in Severus' direction.

_'Little attitude'? _Severus hadn't been so insulted since that unnameable incident with Sirius Black in 1978. _How _dare _he call refusing to submit to his every order a little _attitude_? _Severus' snappy remarks and sarcastic demeanour was not an attitude he ever put on – it was a way of life, a survival mechanism that he had learned growing up in the household he did, with a father who abused his mother and shouted much too often.

How Severus began to wish that some of his abilities hadn't died with the Dark Lord. He had been able to do quite a bit of unique wandless magic, an ability the Dark Lord had given him, before. But once the Dark Lord died, the unnatural part of the ability disappeared, as did the ability to fly without a broom. Now the only wandless magic he could perform were basic spells, such as locking and unlocking things, or lighting a room and taking away said light.

_Fly! _Severus realized as he and the Auror neared the front steps to the house. _Merlin, why did I not think of this before! _He had little time to think – he had to act now. Once he went into that house, there was a chance he might never come out.

Effortlessly, he changed form. As a teenager, he had discovered that James Potter and his gang were unregistered Animagi. Not to be outdone by his enemies, he too began to study and learn, and consequently became an unregistered Animagus. It was illegal, but what fifteen-year-old boy cares if he breaks the law? Then he joined in with the Dark Lord and in the years that passed after that... registering was the least of Severus' worries.

His form was that of a raven. The raven, dark, but graceful, suited him well. Most Animagus forms did suit wizards well, and were not as random as many believed. But the best part of being a raven?

"What the hell?" The Auror shouted, frantically trying to grab onto Severus. Severus changing form was the last thing the Auror had expected. Unregistered, no one but those whom Severus chose to tell knew that he was an Animagus. That said, the only living people who knew was... no one. Because Severus had never trusted many people and whomever he had had died.

Severus flapped his wings, rising over the Auror's head. He had never been the most fantastic on a broom, preferring to stay on the ground whenever possible, but when he was in his Animagus form, it was a different story. As a raven, he could fly, soar in the sky, without gripping onto his broom for dear life. He never worried about falling, and if it were not for Muggle telephone wires, aircraft, and bigger birds that dared to attack him, he was safe in the sky.

Severus landed near the top of a tall oak, trying to hide himself amongst the branches. Thank Merlin it was still the early stages of fall, so that the trees were covered with leaves. What date could it be? September 2nd, September 3rd? Surely not many days had gone by since the Hogwarts feast. Severus was not that hungry and had not eaten since lunch of the 1st, so it could not have been long.

"_Accio _bird!" The Auror pointed his wand in the air.

_Except that I am technically a human, and you cannot summon a human, _Severus thought, haughtily, ruffling his wings, preparing to take flight again. He could hide behind the chimney of the house next door before deciding where to go next. He was better off going short distances until he got far enough away from the Auror. Flying out in the open was not a wise idea, as the Auror could still _Stupefy_ him or something similar. Although-

Severus did not get the chance to finish his thought. Still in raven form, he hurtled through the air, towards the Auror. Not flying by using his wings, but as an object did when summoned through a summoning charm.

He landed at the Auror's feet, but before he could struggle away and fly off again, was pinned to the ground by the Auror's foot. Severus gasped in pain, the sound coming out as a horrifying _squawk! _The weight of the Auror's boot, which was sure to be light overall, felt crushing Severus. His bones were fine and easily breakable as a raven. The crushing pain was horrible...

He transformed back into his human form, gasping for breath, as the Auror took his foot off of Severus and pointed his wand at him. "_Crucio_."

The pain that ran through Severus' body was unlike any pain he had ever felt before, though of course he had. Cruciatus meant "I torture" in Latin, and with reason, for that is exactly what the curse did to its victims. The pain was so intense, it felt new each time. Severus had witnessed many of its sufferers beg for death before the curse was lifted – the pain alone had been known to be enough to kill people. Frank and Alice Longbottom were famously driven insane by it. Severus had fallen victim to the curse many times in his Death Eater days, but was not afraid of falling to the Longbottom's fate. He would never go insane, nor would he beg for death. That was for the weak, and the weak only.

"Have you had enough?" The Auror screamed at Severus, who could not help but writhe from the pain of the curse. He did not let a sound escape his lips though – that would only further inform the Auror that Severus was suffering, and Severus would _not_ give the Auror that enjoyment. "Have you had enough?"

One effect that that particular Unforgivable had on its victims was that they were often unable to talk due to the pain coursing through the body. Even if Severus had wanted to answer the Auror, he couldn't have. Surely Auror certainly deemed it a rhetorical question he was asking.

The Auror lifted the curse, leaving Severus gasping for breath, even more than he had been moments before. The Auror bent down and jerked Severus to his feet by his high-collared robes, nearly choking Severus in the process. "Have you had enough?" The Auror shouted at Severus, though Severus was only a few inches from the Auror.

Severus took a deep shaky breath. "For now," he managed to say before the Auror knocked on the front door of the house.

* * *

The man who opened the door was a fair four or five inches shorter than Severus. His leathery face was tanned, his blue eyes cold, and a little grey hair on top of his otherwise shining bald head. He wore chocolate-coloured robes that were simple, but in good condition.

"Ah, come in." He husked, letting the Auror in, dragging Snape with him.

Snape tried to resist, but the Auror pulled hard and it was either follow or fall flat on his face.

_Where the hell... _Severus wondered as they stepped inside.

The main room was covered in dusty old furniture, with cobwebs in all the corners of the room. The floor was caked with dirt. Off the main room was a kitchen with a double basin piled high with filthy dishes. The windows were so dirty Severus could barely see through them. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what was down the hall, or up the stairs (that were missing a few boards on the steps).

Severus did not show his worry on his face. He had little clue what was going on, but it was definitely not good.

_Slave. _He reminded himself. _They have turned you into a slave. Damn! Why did you never read up on slavery in the United Kingdom? Why?_ He knew that in the Muggle world, the United Kingdom had outlawed slavery, but in the Wizarding world, it existed. He knew that there were not many slaves considering the number of Wizards in the world, but he had not a clue why. He had never cared to learn about it, as only a few very rich Pureblood families owned a slave. Growing up in Spinner's End, with a poor, drunken Muggle father and an abused, depressed Wizarding mother, he hadn't ever seen a slave until his third year at Hogwarts, when one had come to deliver a forgotten book to its master, a fifth-year Slytherin. He had had few encounters with slaves after that.

_With the wealth of knowledge at your fingertips at Hogwarts..._Severus silently cursed himself for never taking an interest in the subject. He wished he knew the slightest about the situation into which he had been placed. From the sounds of it, from what the Ministry had announced before they had cast the spell on him, he would "have" to do whatever he was told. Except with Dumbledore gone, Severus Snape never "had" to do anything.

"So this is the slave." The leathery man, probably in his sixties or seventies, spoke to the Auror as if Severus were not in the room.

"Yes, Mr. Mering." The Auror said respectfully, handing over a rolled piece of parchment. "Here are the papers."

"Thank you." The leathery man, Mering, said. He looked up and down at Severus, then barked. "Bow your head, boy! Do not _dare_ look eye to eye with your master unless told otherwise!"

Severus continued to stare intently at the man. _I will bow my head to no one._

Mering, to Severus' surprise, chuckled at the Auror. "Seems this one has some spunk left in him."

"We explained that he was directly from the Ministry, did we not?" The Auror questioned. "One of the Death Eaters. We only just got him last evening, twenty-four hours ago."

A sick smile spread across Mering's face. "So he has not been broken in at all? Normally the slaves that get brought to me have been broken in somewhat and just need a bit of a reminder of their place."

The Auror shook his head. "Brand new to his position, sir. We were wondering who could break him properly, and your name was unanimous."

Severus tried not to gag as he glared at both men._  
_

He took in his surroundings. All the windows, dirty as they were, were closed. There was a back door off the kitchen, which was closed and likely locked. Severus would not dare to try and escape through any door that he was not absolutely sure was unlocked without alarms. There was no apparent means of escape thus far.

_Just wait it out, Severus, _he reminded himself. He was more likely to escape if it was well thought out, rather than just running to action like a foolish Gryffindor.

The Auror handed Mering a piece of rigid leather – no, it was a leather collar.

Severus felt his throat constrict. _Collar? Collars are for dogs, for animals! 'Slave' or not, I am a person!_

Mering shook his head in disbelief. "You cannot possibly think that a simple collar like that will be of use to me." He brandished his wand. "_Accio _steel collar!"

Flying out of the kitchen came a shiny steel piece of metal, wrapped in a circular position. "It is far stronger than any leather collar." Mering informed the Auror, holding the steel collar in his hand. "It is also more uncomfortable, so that if the slave deserves it, it can be tightened, restricting movement and breathing."

Severus gritted his teeth. Death Eater or not, no one deserved the kind of treatment the two men were discussing. Well, except for perhaps Lucius Malfoy. But what made it worse was that the Auror and Mering were talking as if they were discussing Quidditch or the weather! Not a _person_.

"On your knees, slave," Mering hissed at Severus.

Severus did not budge. He looked down his long nose at Mering. "Excuse me, were you speaking to someone in this room?"

"_Crucio!_" The Auror shrieked.

Instantly, Severus fell to the ground, trying not to hiss in pain. The pain of burning knives twisting into his body. He shuddered on the ground, in seizure-like fashion, unable to help it. Normally he had self- control over that type of thing – he could control his facial expressions, his words... but when it came to the Cruciatus, Severus had yet to meet _anyone_ suffering it who did not shake on the ground like a mindless idiot. It hurt too badly to even think about not doing it.

The Auror released him from the curse, Severus now sprawled on the hardwood floor.

"Thank you, Auror Jennings." Mering did not sound sincere at all. "Next time, let me be the one to torture my slave."

"You cannot use the Cruciatus on him until you are officially his owner." Auror Jennings reminded Mering. "I find that the Cruciatus-"

"Who is the one who does this professionally?" Mering snapped. He turned his attention back to Severus. "On your knees, slave!"

_Do. Not. Do. It. _The after-effects of the curse lingered as Severus took deep, quick breaths, struggling against the ghost pain he felt all over his body. He took one look at Mering and spit in the man's face.

He had expected the man to react violently. To kick, to scream, to cast another curse. Not chuckle. Yet that was what Mering did as he wiped the spittle off his face. "Ah, a fighter." He chuckled. "I am not going to tell you again, slave – on your knees."

_Slave. _The words burned in Severus. _Slave._ He could not stand being called that. It was not as if he were... were an object! He was a living, breathing person, and would _not_ be talked down to as if he were a mongrel!

"No." He managed to rasp, his throat dry from lack of water and from the horrible pain he had endured twice in ten minutes.

Mering turned to the Auror. "An Imperius would do us good right now. Just to get him on his knees."

_Block it. _Severus thought, trying to get himself under control as he continued to writhe on the floor, still feeling the throbbing pain of the Unforgivable, though it had been lifted. That was the problem with extreme pain – even once it left you, sometimes you still felt it.

The Auror gaped at Mering. "He told you 'no'! Just because you are not rightfully his owner yet does not give him the right to tell you, or any other witch or wizard, 'no'!"

"If we punish him too much by pain right now, I might never get the chance to thoroughly break him." Mering said calmly, ignoring Severus on the floor, with the ghost pain the Cruciatus had left. "There is an art to this, to punish them enough, but not too much. To resort to the Imperius when there has been enough punishment. Eventually, they learn." He paused. "Have I _ever_ turned out a slave that has needed to come back for more training?"

Auror Jennings was silent for a moment. "You're right, Mr. Mering. _Imperio!"_

One thing that had always set Severus Snape apart from others was his true appreciation for the Dark Arts. He was not necessarily an evil man – when he had started reading up on the subject at nine-years-old, he had never actually _intended_ on understanding, acting on, or defending himself with Dark Magic, but as he had gotten older, he had found it useful. He knew more about the Dark Arts as perhaps any Wizard currently alive. One result of that knowledge was knowing not only how to use Dark Magic, but how to fight against it.

He Occluded his mind, banishing any thoughts from his mind. He concentrated on nothing but darkness, while pushing the Imperius out of his mind. He felt himself slowly rising to his knees.

_Do not let them, Severus! _He warned himself. He fell back to the floor, exhausted.

Auror Jennings stared in shock. "Blimey! He-He- how did he-"

Mering just shook his head. "I have never met a slave that could resist the Imperius. But he was also a Death Eater, was he not?"

"No, I wasn't!" Severus spoke up, struggling to speak. After dealing with so much pain and the exhausting experience of resisting the Imperius, all he really wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. But he wouldn't show it. "I was not a Death Eater! I was a spy for Albus Dumbledore. The Dark Lord was planning to kill Harry Potter-"

"The Dark Lord!" The Auror laughed in a shrill voice. "You see, Mering? No one but a Death Eater would call You-Know-Who such a name."

"Except for someone who spent years posing as a Death Eater!" Severus argued. "Could you not give me a fair trial? There is-"

"Your slime does not deserve trials." The Auror snarled, kicking Severus in the stomach.

"You will kneel." Mering said firmly, making eye contact with Severus. "Now. If not, expect a concentrated Cruciatus in your gut. And you _still_ must kneel in front of me."

_Just do it, _his sensible side told him. _Do it and get it over with. They are going to make you do it eventually, like they did earlier. _Severus understood that sounded like good advice, but was it? _A concentrated Cruciatus in your stomach will kill you quickly. Your stomach will dissolve or explode... it will stop functioning in short order. You _cannot _let that happen._

_You will never kneel in front of anyone again, _Severus told himself firmly. _They will have to kill you first. So what if they kill you? If you kneel, you're giving up. Then what is the point of life any longer?_ "I hardly care what you do to me." Severus said, his voice strong. "I will _not_ kneel to you."

"Very well." Mering said, nodding at the Auror. "Until I give my word, and not before."

Severus screamed. He could not help it. It felt like his insides were boiling, tearing apart. It felt like his stomach was being turned inside out. He tossed and turned on the floor, screaming. He didn't know what he was screaming, nor did he care. He knew then why all of those weak people suffering the concentrated Cruciatus had begged the Dark Lord for death. He knew then why that student in sixth-year had never psychologically recovered after that acidic potion was spilled on him... Severus could not really think or hear anything whilst under the curse, so he could have been mistaken, but he thought he heard someone say, "Welcome to Hell, Severus Snape".

After what literally seemed like years, the pain stopped. Severus was then jerked to his knees. The only thing keeping Severus from sobbing with pain from the horrible churning and burning he still felt in his stomach was practice. Years of practice. Severus had not cried in decades. He had decided on October 31st, 1981, to never shed another tear. And he hadn't. He wasn't even sure if he knew how to any longer.

He barely noticed Mering clamping the steel collar tightly around his neck. _This is a nightmare, just a nightmare. You will wake up and find yourself in your own bed... _He knew that this was not true, for he could secernate nightmares from reality.

Unfortunately, there hardly seemed to be much difference in recent years.

As Mering held his wand to Severus' forehead and chanted the French spell, the only feeling Severus was aware of was the blinding pain in his forehead once again. The pain was too much for him after all the pain he had endured in the past fifteen minutes – he fell to the floor, landing in an ungracious slump.

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...****  
****Chapter Four:**_** Pretending to Learn**_


	4. Pretending to Learn

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

**Chapter Four  
"Pretending to Learn"**

* * *

"You need to sign here. And here." Severus heard the shuffling of parchment. "Here. Here. Here. And here. Oh, here. No, there. Here. Here."

_How many papers does it take to legally own another human being? _Severus couldn't help but wonder. He did not budge from his position on the filthy hardwood floor. If he so much as twitched, Mering and the Auror might know he was awake. _How long was I out?_

"No, don't wake him." Mering said. "We have a few things to discuss, and I want to be able to do it without watching him from the corner of my eye."

There was silence for a few more moments, except for the sound of quill against parchment. A simple sound, but one of Severus' favourites. It was oddly comforting.

"What are the odds of me being able to sell him at Henderson's next month?" Mering asked casually.

_Sell me? Sell me where? _Severus understood that slaves were sold but... sold? Him? He was too exhausted to think clearly, but he had no choice.

"A month?" The Auror sounded dumbfounded. "I was under the impression that it would take a few months at least just to break him. He is a new slave, you realise, and a servant of You-Know-Who, on top of that."

Mering just chuckled. "I think that within a month I will have him begging to serve just about anyone. Do not underestimate my abilities."

_Severus Snape does not _beg _for anything,_ Severus wanted to snarl. But he didn't.

"Well, if he truly is broken by Henderson's... I suppose it will be allowed." The Auror relented. "The Ministry has very strict rules on the Death Eater slaves."

_Broken..._ Severus hated it. Livestock got broken.

"Do not forget, it says right here that I get sixty-three percent of the profit made on him." Mering pointed out. "At Henderson's, I always get paid _much_ more for my merchandise than I do anywhere else. And Henderson's only comes once a year."

"I have never been to Henderson's Slave Auction." The Auror admitted. "I am afraid I do not make enough income to buy my family one from there. What sort of quality do they have?"

"The best. All strong, well-trained, obedient, usually good-looking..." Mering's voice trailed. "This slave here..."

"Snape?" The Auror supplied a name.

"Was Snape ever married?"

Severus felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. At a young age, he had had his heart set on Lily Evans, the only person he had ever thought he loved. And more importantly, the only person who ever _truly_ cared about Severus in any way, shape or form. Even after he had called her a Mudblood, she stood by him. She wrote him letters once a week, every week, like clockwork, until the day she died – even though he had never written her back. She did not love him like he loved her, but she did care for him, as a brother or best friend, that much was obvious.

Somehow that had hurt even worse.

"There is no record of him ever having been." The Auror said.

_Of course he would know. Every record that has ever existed on me has likely been pulled out and examined. Except for the ones declaring me innocent, of course. _

"No records of much of a family at all. Only child. His mother killed herself when he was thirteen; father has not been seen in twenty years."

Severus gritted his teeth. That was all true – he would never forget walking into the house one summer afternoon and finding his mother dead on the kitchen floor. His father disappeared only days afterwards. Severus had been placed in an orphanage and hadn't seen his father since. He hoped he was dead for all the pain and grief that he had caused Severus' mother. And Severus himself.

"So no children?" Mering continued to inquire. "It would raise his sales price if we could prove he was fertile, beyond test and spell results. A breeder, I am sure, would buy him if no one else would."

_A breeder? _Severus felt sick to his stomach. Surely they did not breed people like they bred owls... surely not. Surely he was not expected to... because he wouldn't.

"Well, he certainly won't be sold for pleasure." The Auror commented with a laugh. Severus felt him push a lock of his greasy hair away from his face and had the urge to slap the man away. But he continued to Occlude his mind and feign sleep. As a Slytherin, he knew he had to endure a little to gain knowledge he would crave otherwise.

"What makes you say that?" Mering was still scratching his name away at the forms, from the sounds of the quill.

The Auror scoffed. "Well... look at him! His nose is abnormally large, his skin is unnaturally pale – and that hair is horrid! That alone will-"

"When it comes to existing for pleasure, they often don't even care what they look like. I wouldn't rule out the pleasure aspect yet."

Severus fought back the vomit that worked its way into his mouth. The idea was completely illogical; why would anyone who could afford a slave buy an unattractive one? It was far more practical to hire a prostitute. Knockturn Alley attracted the young, wealthy men for a reason._  
_

"We did not give him a thorough physical examination." The Auror admitted. "He has no weapons on him, nor does he have his wand. We are certain he bears the Dark Mark, but other than that-"

"I will take care of it." Mering assured the man. "Is this his wand?"

_That's mine! _Severus wanted to yell, though with his eyes shut, he couldn't even be certain. He needed his wand. He needed it like most needed water or air. Without it, he was too vulnerable. Unsafe. He needed it to protect himself.

"I won't be giving it to him, except on a few occasions." Mering stated. "It is not that I do not trust my slaves with wands – every slave I sell has a guarantee – but it is hardly necessary. Except to prove he knows spells or to teach him spells he does not know, he will not need it. Nearly everything I ask of him will be done the Muggle way. It is much harder, and induces the obedience aspect." Severus could hear more parchment shuffling. "Is this it?"

There was a long pause as the Auror shuffled paper. "This is it. I would love to stay longer, to witness your expertise, but I have a family I need to get back to."

"I understand." Mering said.

"Oh!" The Auror exclaimed. "I completely forgot. Your papers say that he is not an Animagus, but in fact, he is. He takes the form of a big black bird. He tried to escape from me when we were coming up to the house. You will want to keep an eye on him."

"Two eyes at all times." Mering assured the Auror. "You are going to register him as an Animagus, are you not? Go ahead – it will raise his value. Good day, sir!"

Severus heard the front door open and shut. He heard footsteps on the hardwood floor, walking away from him. _Where is he going? _Severus wondered, not daring to open his eyes. _Certainly he is not going to leave me on the floor here. Perhaps-_

The footsteps came closer again. Severus heard the man stop right next to him. Severus tried to breathe normally, Occluding his thoughts to quell his emotions, hoping that the man would continue to leave him alone.

He heard a _crack!_ and before he could wonder if the man Disapparated somewhere else, he felt a sharp pain on his back. Like someone had lit a piece of his back on fire. Severus, startled, jolted from his lying position on the floor and stood in one fluid motion.

"I was wondering if you were really out or not." Mering smirked at Severus' glare. He had his wand pointed at Severus with one hand, a leather whip in the other. "Eyes to the floor, slave. You will do that at all times, unless you are alone or there are only slaves in the room with you."

Severus could not describe the hate that rose in him at that moment. He really hated this man. "No," he hissed. "I will never-" The whip cracked again and hit Severus across the cheek. It brought a sharp burning sensation to the area it hit.

_Just listen to him! He is just going to keep doing this until you listen! Just listen for now until you can find a way out! _Severus brought his eyes to the floor, his body shaking with the anger he felt inside. He had not felt this angry in years. He would _not_ be talked down to. He was _not_ a slave. He was a Potions Master, Head of Slytherin House...At one time, the two most powerful living Wizards, the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore, had him on their sides. He was no mere House-Elf that one could order about as they pleased!

"Better." Mering approved. "Now, _slave, _time for our first lesson. What are you to call me?"

Severus hesitated. _They said 'master' at the ceremony earlier. Never again will I call a man 'master'. _"I do not know." Severus played it safe_. Only until I can come up with an escape plan. It will do me no good to be next to death right now. If I stay healthy, the easier it will be to sneak out._

"You're to call me 'Master', under no uncertain terms." Mering stated. "Now, say it; 'yes, Master'."

Severus' voice caught in his throat. "Yes, Master." _At least you are not kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, _he reminded himself. That had been much worse.

"And suppose I had a wife – what would you call her?"

_Ugly. Harebrained. Desperate. _"Mistress, I suppose," he said dully. _You played the part of a loyal follower of the Dark Lord for years. Play the part of a slave for a mere day or two, just until this is over._

"How are you to address all of my friends, assuming you know their names?"

_I haven't a clue! _He hadn't been told that one. In the ceremony, they made mention of the use of "sir" and "miss", but they hadn't been clear on usage.

"I do not know, Master." Severus choked out the word "master". He had actually called the Dark Lord that more times than he could count, but that was only playing a part. He hadn't meant it. _And that is exactly what you are doing. Just playing a part_.

"You will refer to them as 'Master' or 'Mistress', followed by their last names." Mering said patiently. "Otherwise, 'sir' or 'miss' will be fine. That is also how you are to address anyone whom you do not know. Even if you were to go into a shop and someone was to talk to you, you are to call them 'sir' or 'miss'. Understood?"

_Unfortunately, yes. _"Yes."

The whip cracked, bringing the searing pain across Severus' shoulder. It did not hurt as badly there as it did on the face, thanks to the robes he wore. "'Yes, _Master_.'"

That took Severus back a couple years, to when he had had a discussion with Potter. Severus had corrected Potter by saying "'yes, _sir_'" and Potter had responded, just like his father would have, by saying "there is no need to call me 'sir', Professor'."

Severus bit back the revised version of the comment. As much fun as it would be to say it, he was not looking forward to being further marred by the whip. "Yes, Master."

Mering nodded with approval. "Now, when you do something wrong, which, Merlin forbid, won't be often, what do you say in apology?"

_It is not right to quiz me on what I have not been taught! _Severus immediately admonished himself for thinking that. Too many students had said the same thing to him. "I suppose..." he trailed. He rarely let his voice trail. "I suppose 'I am sorry'?" Severus had rarely apologised in his life. His actions were nearly always justified.

"You are to kneel on the floor, bow, and say 'I apologise for my actions. I have shown much disrespect for my Master. Please punish me as you see fit'." Mering recited. "It is showing respect to your Master, and to those you have offended. You will then accept _whatever_ punishment is given to you." His eyes glinted dangerously. _"Whatever_ punishment."

Severus shifted his weight uneasily, not knowing how to respond to that. What types of punishment did Mering mean? Not that it mattered. Severus would not be obeying Mering much at all, so he would soon find out what punishments Mering had in mind, assuming Severus actually might submit to them.

"Do not think of the bowing and kneeling now – you will learn how to do that later. In this household," Mering continued. "You are expected to obey my every word, as well as the word of every other occupant. Be thankful I am not currently training any other slaves – if I can devote all of my time to training you, you will be broken in short order."

_You cannot expect me to _thank _you for that, _Severus wondered. He hated being unsure about anything.

"You are to get up in the morning and have breakfast ready for me by seven. You are to ask before you drink anything, swallow a morsel of food, or defecate. The proper way to ask is by saying 'Master, please may your slave…'."

"You will then go about your day, doing whatever chores are needed. In the beginning, I will have your day scheduled for you, but later on, you are expected to know what needs done, without me telling you. Lunch at exactly twelve-thirty, and supper at six. You are not to go to your bedroom until every other occupant has gone to theirs. Then you may go to sleep until the next morning, when you will start everything over again."

Severus nodded. "Yes, Master," he said quietly, turning everything over in his head. He was a Half-Blood, his father being a Muggle. He knew how to cook and clean the Muggle way. At least he would not have to learn, like he imagined most did.

"What you are going to learn tonight is obedience. The way things are going to be done tonight is not the way you may be expected to do things in the real world, but it will teach you to obey every order given to you, regardless of whether you like it or not." Mering stated, walking over to a filthy sofa and sitting on it. He turned on a radio to a classical music station. "Kneel in front of me, take off my shoes."

Severus involuntarily shuddered. _No._ He had done a lot of things to serve the Dark Lord, but those things were not done under the same circumstances. Those things were done for what Albus Dumbledore had liked to call "the Greater Good". It made kissing robes and bowing at feet less humiliating. But there was nothing to reassure oneself with here. If he knelt in front of Mering, that was giving up his free will completely. He would never do that.

"Tsk, tsk, Snape...Are you really going to make me force you to come?"

_You cannot force me. I can resist the Imperius. You cannot force me to do anything. _Severus tried to ignore the prickling feeling he had begun to feel on his forehead.

"I am waiting, Snape. Do not think I will let this go without punishment as it is." Mering continued to taunt Severus from his relaxed position on the sofa. He crossed his arms behind his head and stretched out comfortably.

Severus shifted his weight, but did not move. _Just go to him and do what he says. The more he trusts you, the easier your escape will be!_ Taking a deep breath, further ignoring the urge to wipe at his forehead which now began to ache with pain, he got down on his knees and started unlacing Mering's sturdy boots.

Before Severus could react, he was thrown across the room, hitting the Muggle television set, from the force of Mering's foot. He had kicked him in the stomach across the room.

"That is for your hesitation." Mering said, his voice strangely calm for someone who had just kicked another across a room. "Continue."

_Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. _Severus felt a heavy pain in his throat as he crawled across the floor and began untying the laces once again. He would not cry. He never cried. Crying was for the weak only. _Just obey him until you can find a way to escape. Like a true Slytherin._

He gently pulled off the boots to reveal feet clad in grey socks. "I could really use a foot massage." Mering stated. "Begin, Snape."

_For the Greater Good. For the Greater Good. The Greater Good as in making sure anyone who has participated in this monstrosity gets a lifetime in Azkaban. _Severus kept his face expressionless as he began to rub at the feet before him. _Do not think about the task. Just about getting out of here. Which you can do as soon as you have a proper layout of the house, of how the windows and doors operate, of what charms he uses to lock them. He mentioned giving me my wand on a few occasions – a simple stunning spell could be my way out. As tempting as a Killing Curse would be, I do not need proof of an illegal hanging over my head... _he ignored the rule of "harming your master, you die instantaneously" - it would not improve his mood.

"Ah." Mering signed in contentment as Severus rubbed the muscles in his feet.

_I am innocent. Dumbledore and Shacklebolt guaranteed it. Why would they believe Lucius Malfoy over the word of Albus Dumbledore?_ Severus already knew the answer to that. Even though Fudge and Voldemort were both gone, the Ministry was just as stupid and flawed as ever. It didn't seem to occur to them that someone could block off parts of their memory, adding some memories that hadn't been there to "prove" anything. Severus could create memories for his mind that might insist that he was actually a Wrock star, but that did not make it true. Plenty of Death Eaters claimed that they had been under the Imperious!

Just by adding a few false memories, and no doubt sleeping with quite a few people, Lucius Malfoy had put Severus in slavery. And why? He never said _why_! Severus had never done anything to hurt Lucius, or his family. On the contrary, he had saved his sorry arse so many times... and Draco. What about Draco? Draco would have been dead one hundred times over, and blamed for the death of Dumbledore, had Severus not intervened. And _this_ was how he was thanked?

"A little angry, are we?" Mering interrupted Severus' thoughts. "Rubbing very hard."

"I apologise, Master." Severus muttered almost automatically, his concentration still on the motives of Lucius Malfoy. In his frustration, he had been giving a bone-breaking foot massage. Not that he would have minded breaking every bone in Mering's foot, but-

Mering bolted upright and pressed his wand to Severus' forehead. Immediately, searing pain spread over Severus' forehead, making him hiss in pain without realizing it. "How are you to apologise to your master?" Mering questioned.

_What did he say to say? _Severus had a fine memory, but what with all the stress and pain he had been dealt, he faltered. "I apologise for my actions. I have shown much disrespect for my Master. Please punish me as you see fit." _As if this is not punishment enough. If I had my wand for only one moment, I could Disapparate to Bolivia and easily never be found..._

Mering removed his wand and placed his hand on Severus' forehead. As fast as the pain had come, it left. Mering resumed his relaxed position on the filthy couch. "Continue."

_It is not as if it is ridiculously hard to use a Pensieve. I would gladly sacrifice any memories to get out of massaging- _Severus' furious thoughts at the entire Wizarding world were interrupted by Mering's voice.

"You may stop."

Severus immediately took his hands off Mering's feet and sank back on his heels, regretting moving as soon as he did, though the movement was slight. The continuous kneeling was killing his knees, and the weight shifting only reminded him of that.

"Clean my boots." Mering said easily. "No magic, no rags, no polish or potions – your tongue and your tongue alone." At Severus' shocked face, he chuckled. "I told you that this lesson was on obedience, did I not? I never said you would have to _use_ these things. These instructions may be as outlandish as I see fit."

Severus bit his tongue, biting back his response. He had many responses he would like to employ. He hadn't practised holding in his sarcasm in years, since he left school. He hadn't needed to bite his tongue in the presence of the Dark Lord – no sarcastic comments came to him then, as the situation was a life-or-death one at all times. But in any situation less than that, he used sarcasm as a survival method. However, sarcasm wouldn't work as a survival method here...

"This is illegal on many counts." He spoke before he talked himself out of it. "I am an innocent man and I demand to be treated as such. Even with the death of Albus Dumbledore-"

"-which you are responsible for."

Severus ignored him. "-there are many ways to prove my innocence. One would simply have to speak to several people, using Legilimency if they must. You could use a Peniseve – I would not mind giving several memories, if it meant-" he stopped short, not willing to show how desperate he was. "There is a portrait of Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts – you could simply speak to the portrait and he would tell you that I am innocent. I spied for him, for the good of the entire _world_. I never harmed anyone."

"Are you finished?" Mering said, surprisingly calm once again. Severus had expected to be interrupted as he spoke in his defence and yet, Mering had listened intently. Had Severus not had the ability to read people, he would have thought that perhaps Mering was not so evil. But he could tell from the gleam in Mering's eye, from the way his mouth quirked upwards, that he was not about to cater to Severus in any way.

"I will have you know that you were a Death Eater for two years, and that is why you have come here to be punished. Regardless of how you behaved after you claimed to leave You-Know-Who, you still wore the Dark Mark and harmed many people from 1978 until-"

"I did not _delight_ in it as someone else in this room does." Severus never had to raise his voice. Even kneeling on the floor in front of someone, it still carried well. "I did cast a few Imperius curses, and I recall casting the Cruciatus during those two years. The others did as I have been accused – they did steal, kill, and assault many women; however, I did none of those things. I merely stood by and watched."

"And yet here you are, under an irreversible enslavement spell." Mering spoke. "The Ministry gave permission for everyone bearing the Dark Mark to be punished accordingly. Whether in your mind you are innocent or not, your master believes you to be guilty and the Master is _always_ right." He pressed his wand to Severus' forehead, from which point a sharp pain bore. Blinding pain so that he could not help but shut his eyes.

He would not cry out in pain, he would not show signs of being in pain, yet he couldn't help but let a hiss escape through his teeth. The anger, oh, the anger he felt at Mering, at the Ministry, at the world...

Mering removed his wand, the pain leaving straight away as he brushed his hand across Severus' forehead. "Now, I believe I told you to clean my shoes."

_You must obey, if only for tonight. He is lying through his teeth. There is no irreversible enslavement spell. _Though the look on Mering's face when he spoke of it had been highly convincing. Severus had not once in his life been told a lie and believed it.

Gingerly, Severus picked up the filthy boot. _Potions ingredients, _he thought suddenly. _Potions_. If there was one thing he knew aside from sarcasm and Dark Magic, it was Potions. All he had to do was concentrate on Potions, completely focus on Potions. Whatever he did, he would _not_ think about the task at hand.

The _ingredients to make a _Contineo _Potion are a pinch of dragon hide flakes..._

**Coming up next in _Unwell_...  
Chapter Five: _Plunging Into Darkness_**


	5. Plunging into Darkness

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

**Chapter Five  
"Plunging into Darkness"**

* * *

It took Severus a good hour and one-half to clean the boots. As dirty and dusty as they were, as large as they were, as dry as his mouth became as he cleaned them, it was quite a job. He had begun to gag several times against his will, and it was only the reminding that he had seen much worse things happen that kept him from vomiting when he spotted an unidentified object on the shoe.

_Remember this the next time you are giving out detention, _he told himself. _That not even Potter deserves this. _For the most part, he concentrated on Potions. By reciting the recipes and ingredients of the most complex Potions he knew in his head, he kept from standing up and knocking the man unconscious, in the Muggle way, of course, of throwing a punch. He understood that in order to escape, he had to hold on and wait for the most opportune time. If he did not try to run away every chance he got, it was likely that Mering wouldn't keep as close an eye on him.

Mering glanced over the boots carelessly as Severus set them both neatly down on the floor. "I suppose no one will have to know that my shoes are now covered in slave spit."

_It's your own fault, _Severus wanted to retort. But he didn't. He instead just looked down at his hands, which rested in his lap. His knees were absolutely killing him. Severus was not old, merely thirty-eight, and was fit, but it did not stop his bones from aching. Kneeling for that length of time was torture on its own.

"Stand. Take off your robes," came Mering's next order. His eyes were wide open and he was casually sitting on the couch rather than lying – in other words, he was no longer resting.

_No! _Everything in Severus screamed against the man's orders as Severus stood up. He had a great deal of pride and dignity. He was what many of his students referred to as "old-fashioned", but he had been born at the end of an era. People simply did not take off their robes in front of one another casually – even in school, where students had worn uniforms underneath, students did not take off their robes in front of one another when Severus was young. They just _did not_. Many people Severus' age had adapted to fit in with the younger crowd, but Severus had not. He preferred some of the Victorian ideals that were thrust upon him at a young age.

"Excuse me, Master, but may I inquire to as to why this is necessary?" Snape looked down his nose at the man, glad to finally be standing.

Mering just chuckled. He seemed to find a lot of things amusing that simply were not. "Do my reasons matter, _slave_?" He emphasized the word "slave", no doubt to remind Severus of what he considered Severus' place to be.

"I am sorry, but I must decline." Severus said, once again feeling prickling on his forehead. _Actually, I am not sorry at all. You are an evil, twisted man to do this to _human beings_, apparently on a regular basis as well._

"'I am sorry, but I must decline'." Mering mimicked Severus in high-pitched volume. "Do as I say or you _will_ face punishment." His steel blue eyes met Severus' dark ones. "Surely you do not want more of that, do you?"

Severus paused, desperate for a way out. _Do not beg – Slytherins never beg. Do not show him defeat either. _

Mering snapped, pointing his wand at Severus. For the first time that night, he was losing his calm facade. "_Crucio!"_

Severus fell to the floor, his body shaking with the effect the Cruciatus had. _Will it never stop? _Severus screamed inwardly. _Just grow numb to it, already!_ Severus had a way of not being affected by pain, by being able to ignore it for the most part, but never the Cruciatus. He didn't think anyone could ignore that stabbing pain. It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, multiplied by thousands. He had once speculated that getting hit by the Hogwarts Express and surviving could not surpass the level of pain the Cruciatus inspired.

The moment the curse was lifted was hard to identify. Whenever one is in blinding agony and the source of the agony goes away, it is often as if the source never did. For example, sometimes people lose limbs to painful experiences. Even years later, after the stump has healed, they still feel pain where the limb used to be. Ghost pain. A pain that exists only in your mind. The Cruciatus often left that kind of pain in Severus, and many others, he suspected. An invisible pain that could go on for hours afterwards.

Mering stepped over to Severus and placed his foot firmly against Severus' chest. Severus could not help but stare up at the man, the only thing keeping the fear from reaching his eyes being years of practice. "Take. Off. Your. Robes," he said firmly, pronouncing each word as a sentence alone.

Without thinking, as if automatically or under the Imperius, Severus stood up and his shaky hands began to unbutton the tedious buttons on his cloak. He more often than not used a simple charm to unbutton them, so to undo each by hand was unimaginable. The tedious unbuttoning was not the torturous part, but rather that he was being watched, that this was just prolonging the inevitable, was torturous.

Eventually, he was able to slip out of his cloak. He laid it on the overstuffed (and filthy) armchair behind him and faced Mering.

"Eyes to the floor." Mering reminded him, his calm facade back in place. Not wanting to be hit with another Unforgivable for so minor a request, Severus complied.

"You will be clothed in the same garments all my slaves have been." Mering stated. "Continue."

_Somehow, I get the feeling he is not urging me to continue simply staring at the floor, _Severus inwardly grimaced. "Continue with what, Master?"

Mering made a motion with his hand. "Continue removing your robes."

Severus did not feel like it was time to argue. _Just do it and get it over with._ He reached for the top button of his black robes and began unbuttoning them.

"Have you ever owned a slave, Snape?" Mering asked as Severus' shaky hands moved down his robes.

_Oh, of course. Who hasn't? We simply had thousands. So many, in fact, we had to _give _them away. Pity, pity._ "No, Master."

"Have you ever met one? Made conversation with the owner of one? Or perhaps a slave even?"

Severus removed his robes before he could convince himself to do otherwise and laid it on top of his cloak. He did not cross his arms in front of his chest like he had the urge to – that would convey a sort of vulnerability he surely did not want to convey. "Once upon a time or two." He replied, staring at Mering.

"Eyes to the floor." Mering reminded. "And continue until there is nothing left, Snape."

_I was afraid he would say that. _Severus began removing one black shoe, one black sock at a time, as he stood in front of Mering, not making eye contact with the man.

"I would have assumed the Dark Mark would have left people's bodies once the Dark Lord was defeated." Mering leaned forward, a glint in his eye.

"You assumed wrong then, Master." Severus had gotten over hating the Dark Mark on his arm. It looked grotesque whether one knew the meaning behind it or not, but it was there to stay. Not even tattoo-removing Potions could get rid of it, Severus had learned from reading various publications. Severus himself had never tried – he had a feeling that even though he hated what it represented, it, like the scars that covered his body, had a sort of story to tell. A memory behind it. And that if he got rid of it, he would likely regret it.

"Does it hurt?" Mering asked, looking closely at the Mark.

Severus restrained from giving the man the look he reserved for first-year Muggleborns who exclaimed "this is like science class" during their first Potions class. "No longer, Master. After the defeat of the Dark Lord, it is no longer a spelled Mark, but a mere permanent design on the skin."

Mering was silent for a moment, watching Severus remove the final bits of clothing. He could not help but give Mering a defiant glare – if he showed any signs of self-consciousness, Mering would likely only be happy to see that, to see Severus humiliated. Severus would give him none of it.

"Interesting." Mering purred, walking around Severus several times, examining his body. "Where did this come from?" He ran his finger across a long scar on Severus' upper back.

Severus tried not to flinch at the touch. _He expects me to remember where every single scar came from? I think not. _However, he did remember where that particular scar came from, for he had worn it with pride when he was younger as he had considered it a battle scar. "An accident." He replied vaguely.

"Accident? What type of 'accident'?" The man continued examining the many scars on Severus' body with a frown on his face.

"A sword. I was a mere child at the time." _As if it concerns you in the slightest._

Mering raised a brow. "A sword?"

"I am skilled with the blade." Severus stiffly said. He felt as if he were losing control. There was nothing more he wanted to do right then than to kick Mering, knock him unconscious, and Apparate away. To somewhere. To anywhere. But he couldn't. He would remain in control. So long as he controlled himself, he was still in control of the whole situation. And he would _not_ act on impulse – he was not a bloody Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake.

"You know how to sword-fight?"

Severus gritted his teeth. Mering made it sound like child's play. "Yes." As a Slytherin, he had quickly learned how to duel not only with his wand, but with a blade. It had come in handy countless times over the years. _And to think Lucius Malfoy was the one who convinced me to learn in the first place._

"Well then, they're battle scars! Perfect!" Mering was positively glowing at that.

_Well then, do not burst his bubble by telling him that many of the others are the result of various curses and not a blade, _Severus thought wryly.

"_Accio _slave's clothes." A piece of brown cloth came flying to Mering's hands.

At least, it _looked_ brown. It could have been any other colour. It was filthy, covered in Severus did not know what, but he certainly was not going to _wear_ it.

Mering handed it to Severus. At noticing Severus' curled lip, he gave another sick smile. "Be thankful – the last slave I trained had his clothes taken away on day one and didn't receive anything to put back on."

At that, Severus snatched the cloth from Mering and hastily wrapped it around his waist the best he could. _Think of Potions ingredients. Name all the students you have taught in the past. Concentrate on anything. Do _not _let him get to you – that is just what he wants_.

Severus followed Mering down a long, steep, narrow staircase, into a dark basement. "This is where you'll sleep most nights." Mering stated, going into the far-back corner of the basement.

Severus grimaced as his tender bare feet crossed the damp floor. Covered in dirt, rat waste, and other unidentified objects, it was highly foul. _Just be thankful you do not have a weak stomach, _he reminded himself. His methods of coping were wearing thin. It was quite obvious that there were no means of escape in the dank basement.

Mering seemed to be reading his thoughts. "Yes, this basement is completely secure. You will not be going anywhere." He pointed his wand against the wall. "Stand against it."

The wall was covered in grime, slime, and other matter that Severus did not care to think about. He was also not blind to the shackles that were strategically placed where his ankles might be, where his wrists might be... _You could transform in these shackles and likely be able to fly away. _But did he really want to suffer the humiliation of getting shackled in the first place?

"Master, I shall not run away." Severus chose his words carefully. _Do _not _beg! _He reminded himself fiercely. _Never beg! _"Surely your training tonight has been enough to trust me unchained in the basement. Or do you not trust your training abilities?"

Mering just scoffed. "It's not my training abilities I don't trust – it's your Death Eater slime. Against the wall before you regret it."

_He is going to punish you for balking, anyhow. _The pricking feeling returned to Severus' forehead. "I-"

Mering placed his wand at Severus' temple, and blinding pain immediately took over. Severus could not help but release a gasp of pain as he stumbled over to the wall, spreading his body out against it so that Mering could shackle him to the wall. His arms outstretched, his legs stretched out, he felt overly vulnerable, but could barely process that thought – if the pain in his head lasted any longer... he did not know how a concentrated Cruciatus in the head felt, but it could _not_ be worse than the stabbing pain Mering was causing him.

Mering removed his wand from Severus' head and shackled him against the wall. Severus wasn't able to do anything in reaction except sigh in relief that the pain was gone from his head.

"Now, about our feathery little problem." Mering tsked after observing his handiwork. "Let's see... how do we keep our unregistered Animagus from flying away on us? Quite simply, we're not. We are going to let him try to escape if he wants. Once he finds out our little punishment for that, he will never try again." He smiled and tapped his wand towards Severus, uttering a spell that Severus knew well – it was a locking charm for the shackles.

_He realizes that you can transform and escape from these shackles as well. _"I hardly see the point of you shackling me here if you know I am capable of escaping them." His deep voice wasn't granting him the favours it normally did. Normally, his voice was a commanding one – Merlin, his _presence_ was a commanding one. But it did not take an Order of Merlin to realize that one who was wandless, nearly nude, and chained to a wall was not a very intimidating person.

Mering chuckled. "You are an intelligent one." He stood close to Severus, bringing his face close to his despite the vast height difference. Severus wrinkled his nose with distaste as he smelled the man's foul breath. "But these shackles put you in your place. Remind you what a disgrace you are to this world. How truly worthless you are."

"Forgive me, Master, but if I am so worthless, why have you decided to continuously grace me with your presence?" Severus retorted dryly. And got a slap on the face as a result.

"You worthless piece of filth!" Mering spat in Severus' face before spinning on his heel and leaving the basement. Severus heard several scraping and clicking sounds as the door was being locked not only with charms, but the Muggle way as well. Then there was silence.

Almost silence. The basement was pitch-black. Had Severus been able to lift his hand in front of his face, he would not have been able to see it. A miserable darkness that felt like a _Lumos Maximus_ would fail to light up the room. And Severus was unable to try to light it with wandless magic, with his hand shackled. Suspended on the wall, his feet a few centimetres from touching the ground, he almost felt like he were dangling in space. He heard the steady _drip! drip! o_f water and the scurrying of rats or other possible creatures. He heard his own shallow breathing as he attempted to lift himself up a bit against his shackles to take each breath. It was as if he were in a dark cave or tank. Alone. Miserably alone.

Severus normally had no qualms about being left alone. Quite the contrary, he usually embraced the time he had alone. For years, all of his time had been spent teaching, preparing necessary Potions for the school, and spying. During the summer, he had had to spend much time at various tasks, preparing Potions, and materials for his classes. He had hardly gotten a moments peace for years, it felt like. But under the circumstances, he could not just lie back and relax. Even had he not been suffering one of the most difficult and mortifying experiences of his life, being in the clammy, dismal basement was too unsettling.

"It would figure that this should happen to me somehow." He muttered. He pulled his left arm towards his body, in vain, trying to get it out from the steel ring. It was biting into his skin and hurt like hell.

_You could Transfigure into your raven, _he reminded himself. But did he dare? If he Transfigured into his Animagus form, he would not be able to get back into the shackles if he failed to escape.

_He is going to harm you regardless of what you choose to do._ He reasoned. _You might as well make it worth it._ And even beyond that, Severus Snape had not gone through the trials he did to spend the rest of his life shackled to an oozing fungal-infected wall. He had not.

**Coming up next in _Unwell_...  
Chapter Six:_Yes, Master_**


	6. Yes, Master

******Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

**Chapter Six  
"Yes, Master"**

* * *

Severus loved being in raven-form. As a raven, he could fly and soar without having to worry about getting knocked off a broomstick or a Muggle spying him. There was something about having wings, feeling the wind on both sides of each wing, that was exhilarating. Severus had never had extreme talent on a broomstick – oh, he could fly. He even had refereed several Quidditch matches a year, when Madame Hooch was unable to. But he had never quite mastered the gracefulness that many had. Or at least, he did not believe he had. He was much more comfortable in the air as a raven.

There was something about his form being a raven that he clung to – ravens were beautiful creatures that soared, something he did not see in his own self. It gave him hope that perhaps he was not all bad. But ravens were also known for being sneaky, clever, and even dark – that was why his form was a raven. It was too bad though, that Wizards could not choose their own Animagus form. He would have liked to have been a panther.

Severus changed into his raven form, freeing himself from not only his shackles, but his collar as well. He began batting his wings as silently as he could, hoping against hope that Mering could not hear his wings from wherever hewas in the house. Severus swooped around the room, trying to assess his situation. It was next to hopeless – there were no windows that he could see, the door was securely locked, and aside from the shackles and himself, the basement was absolutely empty. Not even boxes filled with Mering's old things.

Reverting to his human form, Severus untied and retied the cloth around his waist, hoping to make it cover more than it did. It ended far above his knees – he was not used to having his body exposed in thisway.

_If I could only see! _Severus thought as he used his hands to guide his way back to the far left corner, where his shackles were. In raven form, he could see much better than he could in human form.

Involuntarily, he shuddered. The room was so cold. The dungeons at Hogwarts were not as cold as one might think – magic kept everyone dry and warm – but apparently the basement had not been subjected to the same spells and charms.

_Minerva will get me out, _he decided as he found the shackles and tried to pry them open. If he could only put himself back in them, Mering need never know he had tried to look for an escape. But alas, they were sealed tight with the spell Mering had used to lock them. They were so small, it was impossible to push hands and feet through without breaking them.

Fooling Mering was not worth deliberately breaking bones.

Feeling rather defeated, he sat down on the rat faeces covered floor and brought his knees to his chest.

_The whole school saw me taken by the Ministry. The whole school has heard of my innocence, though whether they believe it or not is questionable. But Minerva knows and will try to help. So will Fillius and- the entire staff knows! Plus members of the Order... I will be out of here before breakfast in the morning._

He leaned his head back against the slimywall and closed his eyes. _They will get me out of here if I do not escape before they can._ As much as Severus hated to be helped by anyone, he saw his situation realistically. He _might_ not be able to help himself, but someone would be able to help him. And they would come to his aid, he knew it. Severus had a hard time trusting people in general, hence why he had formed so few friendships over his lifetime. But he trustedwith absolute certainty that someone would come for him. He had always come to their rescue, and now it was their turn.

He had much to think about. Since he had slept last, he had gonefrom being under arrest, to slave, to being put under two of the three Unforgiveables several times- Severus had lost count- to losing his clothes, to being shackled to a basement wall. He had to think to bide his time until he could escape, of what he would do once he escaped. Of how to maintain any false sort of dignity around Mering, of how to avoid punishment without actually doing the degrading things Mering had him do. Severus had a lot to wrap his mind around, but quite honestly, the amount of trauma he had endured over many hours was starting to sink in, and he fell into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

"_Crucio_!" A harsh voice rang out over the otherwise silent room.

Before Severus could even react, remember who he was, where he was, what he was doing, he was hit with anguish that words quite simply couldnot describe. He was too shocked to even groan as he writhed in pain, wishing that the pain affecting his entire body would _go away._

"I did not shackle you to the wall so that you couldsleep comfortably on the floor!" Mering shouted at Severus, as if Severus wereable to listen tohim. One could not hear, do, or think anything whilst under the Cruciatus. "You worthless, good-for-nothing!"

The pain subsiding, Severus quit the humiliating writhing and peered up at Mering from the floor. Memory returned. _Captured. The Ministry. Slavery._

"On your knees and bow, slave!" Mering sneered. The light from the open door and his wand showed his face being Gryffindor-red, his eyes blazing with fury. "You're to greet your master every morning!"

Severus quickly got to his knees and lowered his head on the floor in front of him. "Good morning, Master," he managed to croak. His throat felt so dry. He felt humiliated, deplorable. He did not even consider not listening to Mering. The pain that had woken him... oh, the pain...

_Do not give in! _Severus reminded himself, furious, as Mering clipped the collar back on him, uttering words in a language Severus did not recognize. _You are doing exactly what he wants you to do – don't give up!_

"Follow me to the kitchen, _slave_. On your hands and knees, mind you." Mering spun on his heel, the way Severus was fond of doing, and walked towards the basement door. Only Severus had an air about him when he spun like that, and he knew it. His cloak billowed, his face hard, and students cowering... Mering managed to look a complete dunce.

Numbly, Severus followed Mering, trying to ignore the lingering pain he felt from the previous day, and the curse he had just endured. He recited thoughts to himself, to remind himself of why he was crawling, practically nude, behind the man as if he were a dog.

_Just keep up the act. So long as he thinks he is "breaking" you, you are succeeding. No doubt there are people left and right planning your rescue, invading the Ministry to get you legally freed and Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban. Once Mering thinks you are further "broken", he will trust you more, which leaves you more of a chance to escape. And you need to escape. For... _he pushed that thought back in his head. Ever since the fall of the Dark Lord, he had wondered why he even needed to exist any longer. A lifetime of trying to take down the Dark Lord, and after it happened, what did he have to show for it? It was not as if anyone but Potter received the credit, and even if Severus hadgotten _any_ credit, it would not have done him any good. No one needed him, no one cared for him, no one wanted him.

_But they will come and get me! _Severus thought, determined as he followed Mering up the hardwood stairs, through the living area, where they had been the night before, tothe adjacent kitchen, connected by an open wall.

"Breakfast." Mering stated. "I expect it in fifteen minutes. Non-poisonous, because I expect you to eat it first." He smiled, that sick smile that reminded Severus of the Dark Lord before he swooped in for the kill. "Fifteen minutes and it will be on the table, understand?"

Severus nodded numbly, remembering to avert his eyes to the floor just in time. "Yes, Master."

Mering seemed satisfied. "I will be upstairs. Do not even think of trying to escape, because I assure you that I will know. There are many a ward and locking charm on this house, not to mention thepainful burning sensation you will get if you disobey my orders."

_Painful burning sensation? The Cruciatus? _"Yes, Master." Mering gave a satisfied nod and left the room, leaving Severus to his own devices.

"Breakfast?" He muttered to himself, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. "What in Merlin's name do I make for _breakfast_?" Severus had rarely made a meal in years. Never whilst at Hogwarts, rarely while as a Death Eater (nor as a spy). He had a knowledge of how to cook, from fending for himself fromthe age of fourbut he hadn't made anything in years. He was not sure if he even knew how any longer.

He opened a cupboard to be greeted by empty, dusty shelves. Well, empty except for the upside-down long-deceased cockroach on the middle shelf. The next cupboard revealeda similar result, only he found a half-empty, open bag of flour with two beetles scurrying out. The milk in the refrigerator had a curdled look to it. Years of mixing Potions had left Severus with a highly sensitive nose, and the smell was positively revolting.

The whole house smelled revolting, actually. It was thick with dust, rotten food, and the smell of Muggle mothballs. Severus wondered if there had been other "slaves" trained there before – the house certainly did not look like it.

_I need a wand, _Severus thought desperately. _I need to see if I can get this milk to not be so curdled, to perhaps de-age this egg a little... Merlin! What do I do?_ All in all, he had an egg of questionable age, the old milk, flour, something called Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil that had a sort of green tinge to it, and, of course, water. That wouldn't make much of anything, let alone something worth eating.

Severus took a deep breath and put the pan he had washed on the stove. The dishes piledin the sink and on the counter were filthy, and so had the pan been when he found it. Coveredwith grease, mould, and Merlin only knew what else, it took quite a long time to scrub out, and Severus was not certain it was even clean then. But it was all he had, and he was running out of time.

Taking a bowl that was not completely clean, Severus guessed at how much of eachingredient to add before mixing them. He tried to remember if Muggle cooking mattered how you stirred it – did you need to stir it counter-clockwise or clockwise? How many times each way? He settled for fifty each way, hoping not to ruin it, and hoping that Mering had a bad nose. Perhaps he would not notice the foul smell coming from his breakfast.

Severus poured the mixture into the now hot pan in neat circles. _Please let them resemble pancakes. _They did, sort of. If you squinted one eye, tilted your head, shut the other eye... but it was too late to change anything. He could hear Mering coming down the stairs.

Hastily, Severus put a few pieces of his disaster on a plate he had carefully washed and put it on the filthy kitchen table, along with clean utensils and a clean glass filled withwater. He did not know where to find the serviettes, so he hoped Mering was not accustomed to having them. Perhaps he would not notice them missing from the table. He stood back and had his head bowed and eyes to the floor just as Mering stepped into the room.

"The... food... is ready." Mering stated in disbelief, as if he hadn't expected Severus to really cook.

_Not really, it just looks as if it's ready, _Severus wanted to scoff. But he didn't. He needed to please Mering for his own sake. If Mering was pleased and trusted him, he might not try so hard to keep Severus restricted from his wand, or might not deem it necessary to lock every window. It was all part of a plan. No, not the type for which he was known, not an elaborate scheme that made him swell with Slytherin pride, but sometimes the most basic plans had the best effects. Besides, Severus did not have too many options with which to work. It was either disobey and be in pain all the time, or obey and perhaps not be watched so closely. It required little thought to make the choice, though sometimes it was hard to go through with it.

Mering seemed to recover and sat down at the head of the table, where the food sat. "It smells odd," he observed, eyeing Severus carefully.

"If you had given me more to work with, it would not. In other words, you are lucky to be getting what you are, given the ingredients."

To Severus' surprise, Mering just nodded. "On your knees, next to my chair."

_As if I am your common everyday dog. _Itwas a real insult. Dogs were not even magical creatures in the slightest. But magical creatures did not kneel beside their owner at the kitchen table.

Swallowing his pride, Severus obeyed. Mering picked up a piece of the lumpy flapjack and held it to Severus' mouth with grimy fingers.

_What am I to do? _Severus did not know what was expected, but it sickened him. He reached out a hand to take the food from Mering, only to have his hand slapped away.

"With your mouth, Snape," Mering urged, not angry sounding, but calm. Severus preferred that he yell. _So do your students. _Severus hesitated. _Just like a dog! He expects me to literally eat out of his hand! _

"Eat it!" Mering bellowed unexpectedly.

Severus quickly ate the offered bit from Mering's fingers, the only thing keeping him from purposefully biting the man's fingers the speed with which he took the food. If he had gone any slower, he would have bitten the meaty fingers. On purpose

The food, if one could call it that, tasted horrible. Severus' gag reflex came into play, but heignored itas he forced himself to swallow the undercooked cakethat tasted exactly like what it was – sour and rotten unbaked dough.

His eyes watered from the silent gagging as he looked up towards Mering. "It will not kill you," Severus assured him, secretly hoping that perhaps it would.

Mering seemed amused. "It is a good thing I ate an hour ago," he stated. He offered another piece to Severus. "Eat it."

_He ate an hour ago? _Severus' thoughts spun. _He never intended to eat this in the first place? Then why have me make it in such a short time limit?_ He had never worked in that kitchen before, and had had no clue as to what to make.

Mering was absolutely mad.

Severus took the second bite from him and tried not to gag. But it was harder than the first time. Each of the following foul-tasting bits made his eyes water even more, his mouth want to spew it out, but strong determination kept Severus going. If he audibly gagged, he would fail. For as far as he was concerned, he was still in control of the entire situation at hand. Mering just did not know it.

* * *

After five bites, Mering stood, throwing the leftovers into the overflowing trash bin. "Enough of this for now. Start with the kitchen. I am going out until lunch. If the room is not clean by the time I get back..." his eyes glinted hazardously.

"Understood," Severus said quickly. "I assume you will be giving me my wand." He did not know how he could possibly clean the kitchen without magic. He had never learned many housekeeping spells, but any he did know would prove most helpful in cleaning up the largest disaster he had seen in a long time.

"Not quite." Mering scoffed. "You will learn to do everything not only the Wizarding way, but in the Muggle way. It is possible that your future owners may let you use magic, or not expect you to perform these type of chores at all, but just in case..." He smiled. "And if you finish the kitchen before I get back, you're to sit in this corner," he pointed towards a filthy corner ofthe kitchen, "until I get back. No excuses. You're not to go wandering the rest of the house. Understood?"

"Understood," Severus confirmed as Mering left out the kitchen door and performed a locking charm on it. _Understood, but it is not as if I am going to obey._

He looked over at the pile of dishes. Both sides of the sink overflowed with them, and the counters were covered with stacks. From the state of the food left on the plates, it looked as if someone had thrown a large party fifty years ago and had simply never cleaned up after themselves. The dishes themselves were coated with dust.

_You might as well start on them. It will do no good to leave a mess when you are going to be living here for a short while. _Severus could not stand things to be untidy. His quarters at Hogwarts were clean, but lived in. They were in just the right amount of disorder. Severus could not imagine how Mering tolerated living in such a pig sty.

With a reluctant sigh, he picked up a tall stack of plates and sat them on the table. He needed to clear off the counters before he could wash the dishes. _Give Mering fifteen minutes before you start working on your plans, _he told himself. _In case he forgot something or wants to peek back in to make sure you are obeying him._

Severus worked on his plan as he walked back and forth from sink to table. _Find out where you are, _he told himself first. _You are still in England, you can assume. Mering sounds as if he is from Devon perhaps. That is not outrageously far, like Spain might be. And even if he is from the Devon area, you might not be there. He could have been simply raised there. _He glanced out the back window, which was covered so thickly in dust he could barely see out it. It didn't matter, for all that stoodin the backyard was an old shed, with a sagging roof. Instead of grass, there was loose dirt. The backyard was surrounded by a Muggle chain-link fence. It provided no clues to his location.

_Next, find an owl. See if you cannot persuade it to takea letter to Minerva. And perhaps one to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Shacklebolt will intervene, I am sure. _Though he and the man were not friends, they did have a common respect for each other. They had fought side by side against the Dark Lord. Surely he would not let Severus rot in his newly-found hell.

_And search for your wand. _He reminded himself as he began filling the sink with hot water and soap he had found under the sink. _If you have your wand, you can simply stun Mering when he comes back and make a break for it. _He had a feeling it would not be that easy though, and did not hope enough to find his wand to hingehisplan on it. Nor did he have a death wish, as stunning Mering wouldsupposedly kill Severus. If Severus were weak, it would bean easy way to kill himself. But he would not resort to such.

He looked down into the sink and gasped with surprise at his reflection in the water. He looked the same as he always did, he supposed, though decidedly more pale, likely due to the stress he was under. But he hadn't expected to see the elaborate staining on his forehead. For there was a black tattoo, spread across his forehead, in an elegant design.

Severus put his hand to his forehead. It did not feel any different. _This is where my head pain has been coming from, _he realized. _The burning sensation. _He did not know how or why the burning occurred, but he would find out if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

Severus spent the rest of the day in a whirlwind of activity. After (finally) getting the kitchen to a suitable state, he fixed Mering a sandwich (thanks to the few supplies Mering brought home), which this time, Mering actually ate. Mering did not give him any.

Afterwards, he started on the living room, which was quite a job. The heavy drapes needed taken down and beaten, the windows washed, cobwebs swept down, all the furniture dusted... but Severus kept his mind busy by coming up with different meansof escape.

_You could find his Floo powder – it is not as if you need a wand to use that. _He mulled over the idea as he wiped furniture polish on the coffee table. _You could always speak to Minerva or Shacklebolt via Floo. Or even Floo to Hogwarts or Shacklebolt's office. _He assumed that his best chances of getting out laywith his long-time friend, Minerva McGonagall (with her clout as Headmistress), orKingsley Shacklebolt, former Auror, now Minister for Magic.

"Slave!" Mering barked, coming down the rickety staircase and pointing his wand at the living room and lifting a ward. "I expect supper in half an hour!"

Severus bit his tongue so hardthat he tasted blood. He could feel himself trembling with anger as he stood fromhis knees and dusted off the cloth around his waist. "Yes, Master." He hated to not be in control, and to be bossed around was most certainly degrading. It took everything he had not to shout at Mering, to give him a piece of his mind before throwing him through the large (and filthy) glass windows of the living room. But he did have control – self-control, which he willed himself to use. Losing his temper would only result in a Cruciatus or worse. And he had had enough of the Cruciatus for a lifetime.

He had tried to open the windows that afternoon, but had been greeted with a horrible shock in his hand and the burning in his forehead. He hadn't bothered with the doors, as certainly Mering would lock those. He had also tried to explore the house, looking for an owl or any clue to his location, but was blocked at the kitchen door by a ward. Wherever he was working, Mering had a ward put up that only he and he alone could takedown.

Severus trudged into the kitchen and looked blankly at the itemson the table. Mering had brought several items with him from his outing, but had not expressed to Severus what they were. And at the time, Severus hadn't cared. But he now realized theymust have been food.

He picked up asmall aluminium cylinder and turned it over in his hand. On the paper on the cylinder, it read "diced tomatoes". _Apparently tomatoes come in these... cylinders? _Severus was impressed. Was that a Muggle thing, or was Sirius Black right – did Severus just live under a rock?

He had grown up fixing himself sandwiches, pancakes, or oatmeal for every meal. None of those things required the cylinder cans,. And since his mother was a witch, whenever she did do the cooking, she did not do it the Muggle way. He couldn't recall ever seeing a can of anything in his house growing up.

Most of the other cylinders were filled with kidney beans and tomato juice, as their labelling suggested. Which would make an excellent soup, if only...

_Do not ask him for help. _Severus was determined to get the cylinders open by himself. But as much as he pushed, pulled, and prodded one, it would not open. Severus rarely asked for help with anything. He preferred to try and solve his problems himself, and he only asked for help when he knew he could not manage on his own. He was likely not going to be able to escape Mering's cruel claws by himself, but he would be able to open the bloody cylinders.

"It does not even indicate which end is which!" Severus growled in frustration. He could only assume that the cylinder was upright when the labelling was, but you could never tell with Muggles. He prodded it with a fork, trying to open it, and only succeeded in stabbing himself.

He glanced at the clock whilst wiping his blood unconsciously on the loincloth. He had wasted five minutes trying to open the bloody cylinder. Perhaps there was no trick to it. Perhaps...

Grabbing the steak knife he had found whilst washing dishes, he stabbed at the top of the tomato juice cylinder. It bled tomato juice.

Severus rarely smiled, but he needed to. One could only go through so much hell and not find a small victory satisfactory. He chuckled, feeling triumphant, as he stabbed at the can more, until the tomato juice ran freely from the cylinder into the pot he had on the table.

"Having fun?" Mering came up behind him as he pried the top off the first cylinder of kidney beans.

Severus froze. "Not particularly," heresponded. He Occluded his mind as soon as he could. He did not know if Mering was a skilled Legilimens or not, but he was not willing to risk it. He emptied the can into the pot, ignoring the large slice on his finger from the jagged aluminum edge.

"There is an easier way to do that, you know."

"I am well aware," Severus said stiffly. He was not, actually, but would not give Mering the satisfaction in knowing that. "I will have you know that the simplest ways are not always the best ways. It would do you good to remember that." He often told his students that – it rarely worked.

Mering chuckled, though for the life of him, Severus did not know why. Perhaps Mering realized how much more angry Severus becamewhen he chuckled and relished his difficulties. He seemed sadist enough to provide more than physical pain to Severus.

"Then I assume you expect that supper will taste _good_ tainted with your blood? This is a can opener." He shoved the object into Severus' bleeding hands. "Use it. You have fifteen minutes before supper is to be heated and on the table. Do not expect me to come help? you again."

_I wouldn't dream of it._Severus put down the can opener and continued using the steak knife on the cylinder, no, can. Can opener meant that it was a can, not a cylinder. It was not Severus' fault that he avoided the Muggle world and their ways of doing things like one might avoid a plague of painful boils.

His mind wandered to what it normally did when he was starting to feel exceedingly angry: control. Mering did not know it, but Severus was actually quite in control. Severus was actually manipulating Mering, and Mering didn't know it. So yes, Severus _was_ cooking and cleaning, seemingly obeying Mering's every word without complaint; but in reality, Mering was being woven in a web he couldn't possibly see.

The more Severus obeyed without hesitation, the more Mering was satisfied in his training abilities. The less likely he would be to watch Severus, and the more likely Severus would find a perfect chance toescape, which he was intently watchingfor.

On top of that, Severus was in control of what he did. He did not _have_ to obey Mering – he chose to. He did not _have_ to sleep shackled to the wall – he was going to choose to. He didn't have to use a knife to open the can – he could use the can opener if he chose to – but he simply did not feel like teaching himself how. He knew it was not much, but he clung to every bit of control he had.

As the soup cooked, Severus stared out the back window to the dirt-covered yard. He felt so near and yet so far from it – all he needed to do to escape was get out of the house, and yet... that was going to be close to impossible.

**Coming Up Next in _Unwell_...**  
**Chapter Seven: _The Penalty of the Raven_**


	7. The Penalty of the Raven

******Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

**Chapter Seven  
"The Penalty of the Raven"**

* * *

"Master?" Severus dared to speak up as he knelt by Mering's side at the supper table. He tried to ignore the gnawing hunger pains in his stomach as Mering ate, as Severus smelled the meagre soup.

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to," Mering cautioned casually, not even sparing Severus a glance.

_It is foolish to even ask. To him, it will show signs of acceptance. Of accepting your newfound position in society. Do not give him that. _Severus concentrated on nothing, pushing everything out of his mind. Occluding when someone was trying to penetrate your mind was hard work, but Occluding just to relax? That was an exercise Severus had started long ago and had never cared to stop. It was whatkept him sane sometimes. During Death Eater raids, Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch matches, and everything in between, he would Occlude his mind. When concentrating on nothing, carefully layering his thoughts and memories, it was easier to rein in self-control, even if he could not control the events surrounding him.

"But you were saying?" Mering prodded, much to Severus' surprise. He hadn't expected Mering to let him finish his question.

"You would not happen to have any books on slavery, would you?" Severus tried not to appear too interested, though he was desperate to get his hands on any type of reading material to help him understand his new surroundings. He wanted to know the laws (and, consequently, their loopholes), what was expected of him, traditions, rituals, everything. He needed to be prepared. He was shaming himself as a Slytherin, having had such poor progress in escaping, not to mention shaming himself as a person bowing to Mering's every word.

Mering eyed Severus warily. "Why?"

_Do not make eye contact – it will only make him angry._ Severus, as a Slytherin, knew a certain amount of eye contact, but not too much, was essential in telling the perfect lie. However, he would have to make due without. "I am thoroughly uneducated on the subject, quite ironically." _That is true enough. _"If I am expected to act a certain way, to do certain things, it would be easier for me if I could read up on the subject."

"Just continue to do as I say and you'll be fine." Mering brushed Severus off, taking a bite of the soup.

"It would not require much on your part." Severus continued. "A simple _Lumos_ in the basement, and perhaps my being chained to the wall rather than shackled, so that I could read." He was not about to push his luck on not being chained at all. "My work would not falter due to a lack of sleep, I assure you. And I am well aware that the more educated one is, the higher the price that is fetched at an auction."

He also knew that anyone who wanted to buy him for his brains would likely not violate another part of his body. His brain, his most precious possession, was his own and no one could ever take it from him. He could protect it more easilythan he could the rest of his body. Whilst he could be physically locked up, restrained, his brain could not be, nor could it be broken.

Mering shook his head. "You are not about to trick me with your nonsense."

"But Master, you cannot deny the facts," Severus reminded him. "The more educated one is, the more valuable." He knew that much without knowing anything about slavery. "True enough, the fact that I am-"

"The fact that you are a former Death Eater will reduce your price quite a bit. Very few people would be willing to take on a former Death Eater," Mering stated. "You are still a danger to this world, regardless of being a slave or not."

"I was never a danger to this world," Severus scoffed. "I did nothing but stand by and watch, then report to Albus Dumbledore everything that happened. That is how Harry Potter was able to take down the Dark Lord – because of my help!" _Not that Potter would ever recognize that._

"Sure. And I'm the King of the Hippogriffs," Mering drawled. "Tell me, slave; if you're so _innocent, _what was your excuse to the Dark Lord for not helping him murder innocent people?"

"I brewed him powerful Potions," Severus revealed. "I informed him that many Potions required that there be no blood on my hands, for the hands to be cleansed of such matter. He accepted it."

"I see." Mering paused to flick a kidney bean at Severus, which he caught and put in his mouth without thinking about it. He had resigned himself to eating what he could – escaping would not be any easier if he were starving. "Didn't you find it odd that you were not even subjected to a fair trial? Did you not wonder why?"

Severus did and he did not. He hadn't known how Lucius Malfoy had convinced the Ministry of Severus' guilt as well as he had, but he knew whatever manipulation Lucius put his hands to succeeded.

"Lucius Malfoy." He said grimly.

"Excuse me?"

"The man who reported me to the Ministry," Severus explained. "He was a Death Eater and not under the _Imperious_ as he claimed. Malfoy is capable of convincing the Ministry of anything – I imagine he had innumerable people that he was threatening to blackmail, or whose memories were tampered with."

"But why would he degrade you, specifically, below the level of a House-Elf? Not that I am feeling any pity or anything."

_I never thought you were. But _below _a House-Elf? _"Below the level of a House-Elf?" Severus repeated.

"Oh yes," Mering said with glee. "Are you not aware? You are not even legally a human any longer, but a slave as a breed. As rock-bottom as you can get. At least House-Elves can be freed and have no restraints on their magic." He chuckled. "You must listen to everyone, not just your master, unlike a House-Elf. You must obey human, House-Elf, Vampire, or Werewolf alike."

"Werewolf." Severus gritted his teeth. Hard. All those years of shoving it in the Wolfman's face that he was much above him had come back to bite him. Now if Remus Lupin werestill alive, he could order him to do anything and Severus would legally have to obey. Not that he would. Severus had never had too high of a regard for the law.

"Yes. Werewolves are occasionally sold as slaves, but it is highly inconvenient to have them, what with their cycle and tendency to become feral." Mering shrugged, taking another bite of soup. "Go to the basement."

Severus' breath caught in his throat at the order. _No, not the basement. _"The basement, sir?"

"Yes, the basement," Mering snapped. "As in 'where the scuzz that I permit to live in my house sleeps'. Do not tell me you have forgotten your little escapade last night of escaping your shackles? _Now_."

_For the cause. Until you can find a way to escape, just obey. _Severus stood up and made for the basement without a backward glance, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, which was only magnified by the lack of food inside of it. _One thing is certain – you will never take the liberty of bossing the House-Elves so freely again._

* * *

_He honestly cannot expect you to obey the slightest order given unto you if you are famished to the point of death, _Severus thought, pacing back and forth in the basement. He had had less to eat in the past twenty-four hours than he could get at an entire meal at Hogwarts. A few bites of a doughy pancake and a few kidney beans were not enough to survive. Even worse, he had had little water granted to him. He drank some out of the spigot whenever Mering was not around – he was not about to _ask_ Mering for any. _If only I had _asked _him about that blasted tattoo marring my forehead..._

He had been at Mering's for twenty-four hours. Away from Hogwarts for forty-eight hours. It was the evening of September 3rd – what was taking everyone so long to deliver him from the hands of Mering? Surely, by now Kingsley was fully aware of what was going on. The man was much too noble to let Severus suffer at the cruel hands of anyone. He would deem the Ministry's actions unethical and set Severus free, of this Severus had no doubt.

He unconsciously pulled at the collar around his neck, which refused to come off. The collar was hardly necessary. Severus had noticed while cleaning the mirror in the living room that it read "Personal property of Nigel Mering", but as Mering was so careful to keep tabs on where Severus was at all times, it was just an inconvenience. It made Severus feel like the lowest of all animals – one never put collars or bridles on magical creatures, only common non-magical ones, such as dogs and horses. _But I suppose I should be honoured, for they are likely 'above' me, as well, _Severus thought wryly.

He had never put much stock in bloodlines, or "who is above whom". He actually found the whole process of keeping the Purebloods away from the Half-bloods disgusting. He always had. He had never failed to remind Black that Black's parents were actually cousins, and how that could explain any birth defects Black had, the worst one being hismind. He had hated the idea of Muggleborns earlier on, but had soon gotten over that after he switched loyalties – Albus Dumbledore had rubbed off on him too much. But then again, even when he did hate the idea of Muggleborns, he would have married Lily Evans in a heartbeat.

_Lily, do this for Lily, _he reminded himself. _At all costs, stay alive for her. Live for the both of you. _He had spent years ensuring her son's safety, and now that he was (hopefully) out of the worst of it, it was time to save his own neck. Unfortunately, it did not seem it would come easily.

Hearing Mering's footsteps start to descend the staircase, Severus quit pacing and waited for the man. Mering had to be at least sixty. Not very old, but older than Severus. Old enough to take his time on things such as walking down stairs, even when you had a slave waiting for you that was so completely petrified over the set of circumstances he was in. Not that Severus showed that he was frightened at all. He kept his chin up and glared at Mering as hewalked into the room. If anything, it might seem that Severus was frightening Mering instead of the other way around. _If I just had my wand for one instant... _Severus thought.

"Against the wall," Mering ordered, malice in his voice, a venomous grin on his face. His eyes twinkled dangerously. His face was lit by his wand, which held a _Lumos_. The rest of the basement was still as dark as ever.

Severus swallowed back any nervousness he had, keeping his voice and expression cool. "And why would I do that?" The collar around his neck tightened, restricting airflow. His dark eyes widened as he discovered he could only take small, shallow breathes. Any tighter and the collar would kill him. _You have not survived all of these years to die in this dark basement. Alone._

"You might remember me threatening you last evening," Mering asked, "about transforming?"

Numbly, Severus just nodded. He did remember. '_We are going to let him try to escape, if he wants. Once he finds out our little punishment, he will never try again,' Mering had said. _

"You intend on suffocating me?" He barely managed to whisper. His head began to feel light – he was not getting enough oxygen. _Do not talk, just focus on breathing._

"Oh, Merlin, no." Mering shook his head, mockingly. "Where is the fun in that? Stand against the wall."

Severus backed up against the wall, the wall with the shackles, not taking his eyes off of Mering. Mering had a wand – he could throw any curse he pleased at Severus. Severus would not be hit in the back by a hex he never saw coming. At least if he knew what curse he was to be hit with, he would know the counter-curses if he had a chance to cure himself.

"Face the wall," Mering commanded.

_Well, there goes that little pipe dream, _Severus complied, feeling possibly more vulnerable than he had the entire time he had been there. _Whatever he has planned, do not cry out. Keep the impassive front. Do _not _give in._Severusknew, realistically, that if hecried out in pain, if heshowed looks of fright and shame, that Mering might be more satisfied with his efforts and might go easier on him. But _might_ was the key word. He also might hurt him even further, encouraged by Severus' pain. And Severus would also lose his pride. His pride ranked second in importance to him after his brain.

"I spent the day decidingon an appropriate punishment." He heard Mering say as he shackled Severus to the wall. With Severus' back facing Mering, he could only guess what Mering might be planning on doing. "Starvation did not see like an ideal punishment – if I want you sold in a month, you cannot be too malnourished. Extra chores might work further on in your training, but as it's only the first full day..." Severus shackled firmly to the wall, Mering released the tightness of the collar, letting Severus breathe easier. Mering's voice travelled around the room as if he were walking.

Severus wouldn't succumb to this man's punishment, he would not. He would give in as much as necessary, but only until he could escape. Like Mering said, it was only the first full day.

"There are thousands of methods, of course," Mering continued. "Punishing slaves can be a practised art-form, really." His voice grew nearer.

_Could he really be that demented? _Severus wondered.

"This punishment will have to do." Mering sighed.

And then, with a crack, Severus felt as if he had been slapped hard. A burning sensation on his bare back. He couldn't help but flinch at the unexpected and sudden pain.

_That damned whip! _He realized, thinking back on the previous night.

"Ah, but it hurts, doesn't it?" Mering said. Severus could just envision a twisted smile on the man's face. "Let's see if fifty lashes don't convince you not to escape."

Severus gritted his teeth as the next blow hit. _Let's see if fifty lashes do not encourage me even further to find a way of escaping. _He then reverted to the process of concentrating on a single image, of closing out every thought, every feeling, every memory. If he could just Occlude throughout the process...

"Seven," Mering called out as the whip tore into Severus' skin. "Eight. Nine."

He could only shut his eyes tight and endure. He had few, if any, other options.

* * *

He no longer was really there. He merely... existed. Not much different from receiving the Dementor's Kiss, really. He was there in body, but his mind? Gone. Blocked. Asleep. No matter how you worded it, Severus barely noticed as Mering continued to hit him, whilst calling him namessuch as "filthy vermin". Oh, it hurt, all right. But when Occluding, he was too focused on not focusing to cry out in pain. He barely noticed when Mering struck the fiftieth blow.

"And that's for trying to sneak away!" Mering exclaimed, breathless. Apparently beating someone to a pulp was strenuous work. Mering stalked out of the room, slamming and likely locking the door behind him, leaving Severus alone in the dark, dank basement.

Severus opened his eyes and arched his back, trying to relieve the horrible pain. He hadn't cried out during the beating, but it hadn't been easy. He had seen men crack under less torture than that. But Severus wouldn't cave. He had quite a bit of self-imposed dignity, and would not be giving any of it away for Mering's sadistic pleasure.

_Speaking of dignity..._ he realized with mild horror that the cloth around his waist had fallen at some point, as he hung on the moist wall. He could feel blood trickling down his back, down his leg...

_Do _not _give in. He wishes to see you humiliated. Embarrassed. Horrified. In pain and hopeless. Humble and weak. You will not give him any of that. Ever. If a few beatings is the price to pay for staying strong, so be it._

**Coming up next in**___Unwell_...  
**Chapter Eight_: Pine Cone, Pie, and String_**


	8. Pine Cone, Pie, and String

******Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

**Chapter Eight  
"Pine Cone, Pie, and String"**

* * *

The next few days went by excruciatingly slowly for Severus. They all seemed to be endless replicas of each other.

Every morning, Mering would unlock him from his shackles and have Severus follow him to the kitchen, though thankfully on his feet and not crawling. Whilst making breakfast, out of a meagre amount of food items that appeared on the kitchen table each morning, Mering would continue to insult Severus by making fun of his appearance or position, by taunting him with how 'no suitable owner would want a Death Eater', or by flat out referring to Severus as "filth", "scum", or "worthless". Not that the insults bothered Severus much – he knew he was an unattractive person, that being a slave was sure to be a temporary position, that being a Death Eater was far better than being a slave owner, and as for the other insults... he had heard better insults from Hufflepuffs, and that was saying something, as Hufflepuffs were supposed to be the loyal ones. But perhaps growing up as a Slytherin, and afterraising quite a fewof them as Head, he had grown accustomed to more clever insults.

After breakfast (in which he was indulged if he had behaved thus far, and if he knelt beside Mering), he would be sent to do various chores. The living room had taken an extra day to finish, and he had fixed the stairway in the hall the Muggle way (and had a very badly bruised thumb to show for it). The downstairs hallway and bathroom (both disgustingly dirty) were eventually cleaned in non-magical ways as well. He still hadn't yet had a chance to venture upstairs, but he hadn't given up hope. Surely there was some clue to his location up there, and perhaps an owl, though he hadn't heard one. And there was also the matter of finding Floo powder and a fireplace connected to the network. He was not dense enough to assume that the downstairs fireplace was connected to it, but perhaps an upstairs one was.

The time after supper was his least favourite of the day. After supper was when he was expected to submit to whatever punishment Mering felt he had deserved throughout the day that Mering had not wanted to give him earlier. Every night it involved some sort of flogging with different materials. Severus had discovered that Mering was well-equipped with different sorts of whips and rods, and also that he knew every spell in the world that could possibly hurt another. Severus had knowledge of those same spells – he was not a self-titled Dark Arts expert for nothing- but he had not actually expected to have such spells used on him before. He knew many a spell to defend himself against such attacks, but now could do nothing. Without a wand, such spells were pointless. As far as wandless magic went, he could not perform those spells without a wand. And even if he could, he could not perform any type of spell against Mering; Mering ruthlessly reminded him of that every chance he got. He was at Mering's mercy, a thought that did not comfort him.

But unlike the first night, the beatingsno longer took place in the confines of the basement, nor was Severus released to go to bed afterwards. No, he would still have to completetasks that he could hardly stomach?. He had no qualms in cleaning the atrociously dirty house, in making meals, but the other tasks he was given, akin to foot massages and licking shoes clean? Mering seemed to enjoy coming up with those sorts of tasks when he got bored, tasks that no one in their right mind would relish. Severus found himself getting into the habit of Occluding, simply so he would not have to think. It was relaxing, in its own way. Not when someone was trying to penetrate your mind, of course, but when you were not blocking anything but your own thoughts, it was. He was yet again very glad he had had the idea and abilities to learn Occlumency at the young age he had. He hadn't had a clue at the time how much he would need the skill.

"After cleaning up breakfast, you are to go upstairs, to the third door on the left-hand side, to clean and organize the room," Mering stated as he shovelled food into his mouth onemorning.

Severus could only imagine what layin the room. It would likely be a wreck as the downstairs had been until Severus had cleaned that. "Yes, Master." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply after speaking those words. He would not react, he would not react...

His plan involved taking Mering by surprise, and in order to do that, he needed Mering to trust him to a degree. If he fought every chance he got, Mering would only be more cautious around him, making escape more impossible. Escape already would be hard enough – what with the wards Mering cast to make sure Severus only stayed in designated rooms at designated times; without a wand, he could never escape. So his goal was to either find his own wand or take Mering's, first of all. He could likely tear down the wards easily – Merlin knew he had had enough practice.

As he hadn't a clue where his own wand was kept, Mering's wand was his best option. A Wizard could make _any_ wand work for him, just some not as easily as others. But Mering, like every adult Wizard, kept his wand on him at all times. One had to keep in mind that Mering might be capable of wandless magic as well. So whatever attack Severus plannedhad to take little time.

He had to take Mering by surprise whilst Mering had his wand out. That alone would be tricky, for whenever Mering had his wand out, he was usually torturing Severus with it. And how to take him by surprise without having the Cruciatus or another form of punishment put on him was also tricky.

He could not harm Mering in any way possible. The most obvious choice to take him by surprise was a swift and sudden kick in the groin, but would the enslavement curse see that as harm? Likely so. But any sudden movement, and Mering would likely curse him... Severus knew for a fact that he was not the first slave Mering had attempted to break. He knew Mering had successfully trained many slaves before him for years. Mering would be prepared for any sort of stunt Severus tried to pull. That was discouraging, but he had to at least _try_.

"The wards are set in that room to allow certain spells from your wand," Mering continued. "You will be able to summon objects and _Scourgify_ them, but that is it. You will not be able to Apparate or do anything else. If you try, I'll know."

"Yes, Master," Severus said, his heart lifting. He was being allowed to use magic? What if he conjured a Patronus? Yes, Mering had said he would not be able to, but that was advanced magic. And it was not as if Mering _expected_ him to use a Patronus - Patronuses were usually used for self-defence against certain Dark creatures. It was only because of Dumbledore that the Patronushad any other purpose. He had devised a way for the Order to contact each other using their Patronuses. Certainly he could cast a few for Minerva, Shacklebolt... any other member of the Order who might wish to seek him out and help him. It would not be much, of course, but it would prove he was alive and was waiting for their help.

Severus was familiar with warding of areas, especially wards that prevented magic from being used. Those were generally complicated to cast, and normally a Patronus would not be included in the spells prohibited in the area... the Patronus was a quite random charm. Few knew how to properly castthem, so why waste time and energy making it so that one could not cast one in a certain area?

"Master, I do have an important question regarding my enslavement and self-defence." He chose his words carefully. Mering was strict about Severus never initiating a conversation, but he hadn't exactly initiated this one. And it was important, whether he could conjure a Patronus in that room or not.

"And that would be...?"

"I am not to use my wand to protect myself against my Master, I understand," Severus said. "Or any other witch or wizard, correct?"

"Unless they are trying to cause you bodily harm that your master would not approve of, no." Mering eyed Severus suspiciously. "Why?"

"I taught Defence Against the Dark Arts for a year, Master. It is only my nature to want such questions answered." Severus was not lying – that was the truth. "But if a creature, such as a troll or dementor, were trying to harm me, I could use a spell to stop them or ward them off?"

Mering nodded. "Unless your master instructed you otherwise. But since most do not want their slaves having their souls sucked out..." he paused. "Not that any of this is normally a problem. Do you intend on crossing paths with a troll any time soon?"

Severus chuckled. It _would_ make his asking about it more plausible. "No, Master. But after a lifetime of fighting against the Dark, one can never be too careful."

_Fighting _against_ the Dark. I did, you realize._

* * *

Mering led Severus into the room. The room, much to Severus' surprise, appeared to be a small study. There was a medium-sized bookshelf on the wall and a desk in front of a window, overlooking a side street. The room was filled with junk and other clutter. It was dusty, and had the smell of mothballs to it.

"You may use magic," Mering reminded Severus, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Severus' ebony wand. "But remember, only _Accio_ and _Scourgify_. I will be able to tell if you've tried to use anything else. Once you've finished, you're to go downstairs and wait in the corner. Understood?"

"Understood, Master," Severus confirmed, reaching out and gripping his familiar ebony wand. He had gotten itat Ollivander's at elevenyearsold. When he had come to Hogwarts, everything had been second hand, at best - his books, his trunk, his robes... but not his wand. His mother had scrimped and saved for years to get him a wand at Ollivander's. Severus had not known how much wands cost at the time, but he had assumed that they were very expensive. Now that he had gotten older, he realized that, as they were necessary for a wizard, they did not run too cheaply nor too expensive. They were actually somewhat reasonable. It reminded Severus of just how poor his family had been, even if he had not realized it at the time.

He loved his wand. It had been his only constant throughout the years. No matter what, he always had had it. He had had it when he was at school being taunted by James Potter and his gang, he had had it when he joined up with the Dark Lord, he had had it the moment he found out Lily had died, he had had it throughout the quiet but dark ten years where he taught as Potions Master before Harry Potter came along. He had had it to rescue Potter over and over, he had had it to kill Albus Dumbledore... His wand had been there with him no matter what. And gripping it now, he realized how much he loved it. How much he needed it. Depended on it.

Mering nodded. "I will be going to meet a colleague of mine. She will likely be coming for dinner one day next week." At that, he turned on his heel and left.

Severus did not stop to ponder Mering's words. He did not care where Mering went or what he did, or who his colleagues were. He had a feeling that Mering said those kinds of things to his slaves to make him feel superior, because _he_ had things to do, because _he_ was going somewhere while Severus _had_ to stay behind. Not that any of those things bothered Severus, but it might another person.

_Conjure a Patronus! _He told himself eagerly. _You can do it easily enough - it will be a sure sign that you need help. _But as much as he hated to admit it, and would never admit to another, he was afraid to. If Mering caught him, it could end very badly...

He turned and looked at the titles of the dusty books on the shelves. All

(_surprise, surprise_)

were on slavery. _Slavery in History _was one, _Laws and Orders of Slavery in the Wizarding World_, _Punishing Slaves: The Art_, and more. It was rather sickening to read the titles, let alone...

Severus glanced cautiously behind him. Mering had gone, had he not? He hadn't heard a door slam or the familiar crack of someone Apparating, but it did not mean Mering hadn't left. There were probably sound wards from downstairs to upstairs or something of the like.

He grabbed _Laws and Orders of Slavery in the Wizarding World_ and flipped it open. The dust in the book got in his nose. He resisted a sneeze as he thumbed through the pages. It seemed to be more than laws - the book was practically a how-to guide forowning a slave.

A how-to guide for _owning_ a slave could be the how-to guide for_being_ a slave, if one applied reverse psychology.

Slytherins were resourceful. Out of all the houses at Hogwarts, Slytherins would be the most likely to survive any circumstance, simply because they knew how to take what they had and make it work. For example, if you locked a person from each house alone in a dark room, with no windows, no door, no wand, and gave them a pine cone, a piece of pie, and a piece of string to get themselves out, it would likely be a Slytherin to get out first. What he learned from the book, combined with a Patronus or two, would have to be Severus' pine cone, pie, and string.

Severus set the book aside and looked at his wand. _Think of a happy memory, _he told himself. _When was the happiest you have ever been? _Conjuring a Patronus had never been the easiest thing for him. He did not have many happy memories to work from.

The happiest he had ever been had not changed since the beginning of his fifthyear though. He had been serving detention for hexing Potter in Herbology. Of course, no one had listened to him that Potter hadpulled his wand out first, and that Severus had only been acting in self-defence. So there he was working, and who but Lily Evans came up behind him. She, as a Prefect, had pulled some strings and gotten him out of detention. They had stepped out of the greenhouse into the absolute pouring rain and just stood there, getting soaked. One thing had led to another and she had kissed him... that moment stayed with Severus for the rest of his life. When he had first conjured his Patronus, he had thought of that moment, and as his life hadn't exactly gone uphill since, he hadn't had another memory to even consider changing to. He was not a depressed person by nature, but he was not a happy one either. He had few happy memories to choose from – that was fact.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" He bellowed, pointing his wand out the window. He focused all his attention, all his energy on that memory and Kingsley Shacklebolt. And to Severus' great relief, a doe came leaping out of his wand, out the window, and disappeared out of sight.

He took a few calming deep breaths before beginning again. "_Expecto Patronum_!" Another doe came leaping out and went the same direction as the other, only hopefully this time to Minerva McGonagall.

_Well, while you are at it... _"_Expecto Patronum!_" He sent towards Arthur Weasley, yet another member of the Order.

The Patronuses served little purpose except as a sign, a sign that he wanted help. Surely they would understand that with one look at his Patronus... He was running out of ways to manipulate Mering. The little game Severus was playing that could be entitled "How Long I Can Control Mering Without Giving Orders" was getting old fast. It did not take an Order of Merlin to realize that any webs he tried to weave were not working, and that he was next to helpless in his current situation.

Reading _Laws and Orders of Slavery in the Wizarding World_ did not improve his outlook much at all. The writer of the book stressed the fact that the irreversible spell would severely knock a slave out or even kill himif heattempted to harm hismaster, through magic or not. It also dweltquite a bit on the slave tattoo, which interested Severus greatly:

_The Mark of a slave, an elaborate tattoo shown here, serves many purposes. Not only does it alert shop-owners and others nearby that the person is a slave (slaves are forbidden by law to make purchases unless their master has given them permission – see below), but it also serves as a way to both punish and reward a slave. To punish the slave through the Mark, all the Master need do is hold his wand to the slave's head and a burning sensation will ensue. If the Master is not around and the slave disobeys, hisforehead will slowly start to burn, to ensure the slave does little wrong. On the other hand, the Master's touch to the slave's forehead proves to be a very rewarding touch, akin to arousal, and many slaves are concupiscent towards simply feeling their Master's touch._

Severus unconsciously reached up and traced the blank design on his forehead. It did not hurt right then, but he knew what the book was talking about. The prickling feeling he got when he outright defied Mering, how it soon transferred into a painful burning... yet that did not bother him as much as the Master's Touch factor. The book made it sound like he would... enjoy getting touched on the forehead by Mering?

Severus shook his head. Hardly. He would never enjoy being anywhere near the man. He read on.

_For slaves to be able to legally make purchases, they must be taken to a trained Ministry official, who willcast a spell on them. The spell, shown on page 329, renders the tattoo nearly invisible. However, the slave can and will still feel the burning and rewarding effects of the tattoo._

Severus set the book back on the shelf after applying a _Scourgifying_ spell on it. The book had told him all he needed to know. The spell was irreversible and his only hope layin someone from the Order purchasing him. If that happened, he would be able to live a semi-normal life. Still, no matter how much freedom said Order member ever gave him, he would still have to obey all their orders, direct or indirect, or suffer the burning sensation on his forehead. He was unable to fight back. In short, he had been chicaned and there was nothing he could do about it. Life was unfair, he had learned that long ago. However, acceptance was a different thing altogether.

**********Coming up next in _Unwell_...  
Chapter Nine_: Talk of Hogsmeade_**


	9. Talk of Hogsmeade

******Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

**Chapter Nine  
"Talk of Hogsmeade"**

* * *

Severus arched his back, trying to get the stiff feeling out of it. The pain and soreness that shot through his back were not worth getting the muscles stretched – Severus was starting to seriously wonder how much skin he had left on his back.

Sleeping in the shackles was not comfortable, but yet, it was Severus' favourite time of day. Alone, in the darkness, he did not have to worry about any sort of indignity, or keeping his emotionless façade.

He was alone. Completely alone. It was the only time of the day he could truly _think_ without having to worry about not doing something right, about going too slow, about not coming when called...

He had lost track of the amount of time he spent in the basement ever since that day that Mering had come home and used a simple form of _Priori Incantatem _to see what spells Severus had used in his absence. He had been furious, of course, and had flayed Severus within an inch of his life. Ever since then, Severus had been in the basement. It could have been hours or days ago. He had no way of knowing.

Severus had not been surprised, nor had he been emotionally hurt by the act. He knew full-well when he had cast the Patronuses that Mering did not make idle threats, but they had been his only hope. They still were. He could not escape from Mering on his own – that much was clear. Even if he did manage to escape from him, the burning on his forehead would grow so unbearable, it would likely boil his brain. And though attacking Mering and dying instantly had sounded tempting during his punishment, it had not been tempting enough to seriously consider it. Though he was trying to accept the situation he was in, that he was helpless to help himself, he still had his pride. It did not matter if he spent the rest of his life in Mering's company or with an owner like him – he would not become weak.

On the note of a new owner, Severus had decided that if it came to that, he really preferred someone buy him because of his knowledge in Potions. Because if someone wanted him to brew for them on a day-to-day basis – maybe for an Apothecary or something of the like – he could do that. It would not hurt his brain at all – it would only stimulate it – and it would mean that he was not harmed in any other way. So long as he "behaved", he would not get punished.

And as for the "pleasure" aspect... Severus could hardly stand to think on it. He had seen the people on the dark streets at night, offering their "services", and could only shake his head at the thought at the time. He had _chosen_ an asexual lifestyle – he had fallen in love once and had had his heart broken– he was not about to risk any further damage to it. The fact that two humans could engage in such an act with no strings attached, without knowing each other's names... he was not one to randomly spout advice, especially on that particular topic, but that seemed like a very idiotic thing to do. He supposed the world really was going to the gutter, or he really was as Victorian as accused. Perhaps both.

But to be bought for thatsole purpose? Severus had to swallow the bile in his throat just thinking about it. He was very glad he was unattractive for being merely thirty-eight. The tolls of his hard life made him look older than he was, which was a plus in this case. Even though he had convinced himself that he would be sold (if sold at all) for his brains or for hard physical labour, the thought of "pleasure" still worried him.

_You really should sleep, _a little voice reminded him. _All of this not sleeping is doing you little favour. _But since waking to the Cruciatus that first morning, Severus could not sleep. He couldn't bring himself to close his eyes and truly sleep. He needed to be awake. Alert. Ready for whatever Mering had planned. And since he had been in the basement for at least two days, he imagined, Mering was due to come down at any time... he liked to come down at random intervals, just to taunt Severus.

_Whatever Mering has planned... _Severus had to fight with himself to not talk back to Mering, but it was growing harder. He hadn't a trifle of respect for the man. All the 'yes, Master's were making him sick to his stomach.

Sometimes Severus felt like he was giving in. He knew he wasn't – he was counting on Minerva and Shacklebolt, but the fact alone that he was counting on them made him ill. He knew that there was nothing he could do to escape, that he could only count on someone else intervening, but they were not seeming to. Why not? Surely they would –Shacklebolt was too noble to sit in the office as Minister of Magic and not _do_ anything. And Minerva, Minerva had been in his life since he was the Gryffindor Head of House, it was unusual the amount of attention she provided to Severus, but looking back, Severus realized that she had noticed something the other professors had either failed to realize or chosen to ignore – that he needed help. Guidance. A _friend_, other than Lily, of course. And she had provided it as best she could, without once making Severus feel as if she pitied him. And that had been exactly what he needed. Even though he had joined ranks with the Dark Lord as he grew older, she had had an incredible influence on his life. An influence he supposed took the place of his mother at the time.

He needed something. Anything. A sign of hope. He felt as if he were living in a dark tunnel (he was, in the basement, but point aside). He needed to know what was going on in the Wizarding world, of how the rest of the world was reacting to such an outrageous punishment cometo pass. Unless no one knew... but he knew without a doubt that they did. There had been reporters there, taking notes and pictures as he was forced to his knees and had the enslavement spell put on him. Enslavement _curse_ was more like it. A spell was just that – a spell. The word was neither evil nor innocent in itself, but _curse_? Now, those were always of a malefic nature.

Hearing footsteps on the basement stairs, Severus immediately put his head up and pulled against the shackling restraints to be as straight as possible, ignoring the feeling of the edge of the shackles cutting into his skin. He would not look at all like he had been weak – he would not slump nor would he bow more than necessary. Mering could quite legally and magically take away Severus' free-will and his clothes, but he could never take away his pride.

"Awake, I see," Mering commented, pointing his wand at the shackles and silently uttering a spell.

The shackles opened, Severus falling to the ground. He hated that the shackles left him just high enough off the ground to ensure he would not fall as gracefully as he would have liked.

Severus glared up at him, rubbing his inflamed wrists as he stood. Red, swollen, and painful, he could think of quite a few Potions that would instantly fix his wrists and ankles. Potions Mering would likely refuse to bestow on Severus, nor would let him brew. And Severus would not ask. It would be as if he were admitting that he needed Mering's permission to do anything and everything, when quite frankly...

_...you do. _Severus realized as he numbly followed Mering up the stairs. _If you do not obey him and honour him the way he wants you to, he will just hurt you until you finally decide you have had enough and try to kill him... there is no way out. You _are _his slave until the Ministry intervenes... there is no way around it._

He supposed he should have come to that realization on the evening of September 2nd, when everything started, but he had been too busy looking for ways out. Now that he realized there weren't any, it took everything he had notto retch on the floor hehad taken great pains to polish. He was bound to obey every word of Mering's – there was no way around it.

"I thought we'd do something different today," Mering said casually, leaning on the now-clean kitchen counter.

Severus just looked at his own feet. Still pale as ever, they were not quite as tender as they were a week ago, when he had been taken by the Ministry. All the walking barefoot seemed to have toughened the soles of his feet, and definitely dirtied them – the smell of himself was so very horrid. Contrary to the students' beliefs, Severus actually had very good hygiene habits and hated feeling as filthy as he did.

_Has it been only a week? It feels like so much longer._

"I am tired of bringing in food everyday from home," Mering stated. "I am taking you to Hogsmeade, where we will purchase some groceries."

_Hogsmeade? _Severus looked up in surprise – and in dread. _Hogsmeade would be the perfect place to escape, except... except everyone there will know I am a slave, from the papers and from the tattoo...And what day is it? It is... _he glanced at the calender behind Mering, _Friday. Good, so at least the students will not be out and about. The last thing I need to suffer is the humiliation of them seeing their dreaded Potions Master in a loincloth... but people I know will certainly be there. No one you know well enough to try and rescue you. Oh Merlin, let Minerva decide to go to Hogsmeade today on a whim..._

"Of course, you will have to change. You're not appropriately dressed for Hogsmeade," Mering continued.

Severus coughed. "I see. And coming from someone who believes appropriate attire at any case is a filthy scrap of dish rag, what would you designate me to wear to Hogsmeade?" He needed to choose his words carefully – he found he could get away with insulting Mering if he did so carefully – Mering said that no one liked a slave with no personality, which Severus supposed was good for him. So long as the insults were not direct or particularly rude, he was fine.

"Oh, if you feel that way, we could come up with something else for you to wear full-time?" Severus did not like nor did he trust the gleam in Mering's eye.

"I would rather not take my chances, thank you," Severus said shortly.

Mering just chuckled. "You're to go into the bathroom and wash up. Your clothing is on the back of the toilet. You've fifteen minutes."

Severus did not bother to waste a second thanking Mering, like his punishment-induced impulses said he should.

_Forget your impulses, _he said, shutting the bathroom door behind him. _You are not going to thank a man who has _permitted _you to cleanse yourself of a week's worth of grime._ Actually it was more than a week's worth, as normally Severus did not go wading in dust an inch thick all week.

"And, for Merlin's sake, do something with that hair!" Mering called through the shut bathroom door.

_What do you expect me to do with it? You've given me no soap, no Potion to work with..._ but Severus did not care. The feeling of the warm water over his body as he showered was good enough for him.

He stared at the noticeably dirty, bloodstained water as it drained. _What did you expect to wind up as? After Lily died, what did you really expect? _He knew that sounded vastly pathetic – he was not a lovesick fifth year, for Merlin's sake! But at the same time, he had decided to marry Lily at the ripe old age of seven. Thatdetermination had not waned when Lily married Potter. But when Lily died? Severus had forced himself not to think about that for years, the only thing occupying his mind was vengeance. But now, now that it was all over... what did he really have to live for? No one needed him now. No one cared for him now. It would be a bit far-fetched to assume everyone had _forgotten_ about him, as he was sure Hogwarts was struggling to find a Potions Master to replace him, but they soon would, if he was left in the hands of Mering too long. They all would.

_Stop that now, _he snapped out of it, trying his best to rinse his hair out, staring at the dead spider he saw sliding down the drain. _Regardless of whether anyone _needs _you or not, you will not pity yourself. Now or ever. Nor will you let anyone pity you. Today at Hogsmeade, you will hold your head high and make anyone who wishes to stare or pity wish they hadn't._

Turning off the water, he immediately regretted the fact that there were no towels. He knew there were none – he had checked after spilling something earlier that week. But then again, Mering's wording was not lost on Severus - _"I am tired of bringing in food every day from home"_, he had said. "Home" as in "where Mering lived". Mering left at night after he locked Severus down in the basement. He had somewhere else to go. A warm place to lay his head, plenty of food to eat, likely family... the man did not deserve any of that. But Severus did admit that it made sense – if one wanted to train a slave, of course they would use magic to make the place filthy, and make the slave clean it up. And no one in their right mind would let their _own_ house get that filthy. Supplying the cabinets with towels were likely not on Mering's mind. Severus could not help but wonder how many other slaves before him had encountered the same towel issue.

_Except that you are not a slave, _he reminded himself, doing his best to rinse out the cloth he had worn that week in the sink. He might as well try to get the excess dirt off of that while he could. _Regardless of what the law currently says about you, you are a human being. One far above anyone who tolerates this sort of behaviour from people like Mering._ He had never been completely against the practice of slavery, but he had always been against treatingsomeone indecently. But now he was wholeheartedly against the practice of slavery – regardless of how you treated someone, they were still human beings. Just because one might decide to label someone differentlydidnot make it so! He could change Harry Potter's status from "wizard" to "squib", but it wouldn't change the fact that Harry Potter was easily one of the most powerful wizards alive.

Potter. Why did it _always_ have to come back to Potter? Not even in the rest of the world, but in his own head? Severus felt like hitting his head against the wall for that as he wrung out the cloth and settled it over the shower curtain rod. But then again, he had spent the last seven years making sure that _nothing _happened to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Scratch that, he had spent the last eighteen years _guaranteeing_ that. Because Harry Potter was all that was left of Lily, and as much as Severus despised the child for being so much like James Potter, he had made a promise to himself, to Lily, to protect the boy.

_And this is what I get in return, is it, boy? _He glared at the neatly folded robes on the back of the toilet. _A life of servitude? Why can't you get your sorry little rump over here and hex Mering for me? _

_Stop it, Severus – you're really out of sorts if you are wishing for Potter to come help you._

He slipped on the robe. Too large for him, an odd tan colour, but they would have to do. Much better than the cloth he had been wearing around his waist. He would rather be seen in the robe than practically nothing.

He ran his fingers through his hair. Though free of loose dust and dirt, for the most part Severus was still filthy. He had scrubbed off what he could with his hands, but that did not help the odour that was attached tohim. Yet what Mering wanted, Mering was getting. Had he really cared that Severus was clean, he would have done more to ensure it.

Severus opened the door to find Mering standing right outside it, tapping his foot. "Let's see it then." Mering said, motioning to the robe.

Severus gritted his teeth and complied, stepping out of the bathroom door and letting Mering see how the robe fit him.

"A bit too big, but it'll have to do. You-Know-Who didn't feed his army enough, then? All right, let's go." He held his arm out to Severus.

He paused. _What does he expect me to do? _"I can Apparate on my own, you know. It is one of the many skills the Dark Lord taught his _army_." Severus spoke each word with extra diction, hoping to get his meaning across to Mering. It was so hard to though, without letting his eyes speak for him. It was something he had taken for granted for years, one word, one glare, and everyone understood. Without being able to glare, without having the authority, being in the vulnerable position he was, he was lucky he garnered any attention from Mering.

Mering just chuckled. "I am hardly going to let you Apparate on your own. And I am not going to let you use your wand again yet, especially out of my sight." His eyes narrowed. "Remember that spell I mentioned last night? That will make you feel as if you are falling into glass shards? Grab hold."

Severus did recall mention of that spell, and though he had never heard of it before, had no doubt that Mering knew it and would use it. _At least he is taking you with him. He could be leaving you here even longer to rot. _"If you dare splinch me, I will make-"

They Disapparated with a _crack!_, Severus never getting to finish his sentence.

* * *

Severus immediately breathed in the the familiar smell of Firewhiskey. He stood outside the Hog's Head. Severus was not a drinking man necessarily, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Often times he had downed a little bit of Ogden's Old just to survive the day.

It hadn't been easy following the Tri-Wizard tournament, waking up to teach a dangerous subject to rambunctious children who quite frankly did not want to be taught, and lying down to the burning of the Dark Mark, having to get up and go somewhere, to be on edge and alert, afraid for his life. It certainly hadn't been the healthiest of coping methods, of course, but it was not as if he got drunk on a regular basis. He merely had enough to relax a bit, whilst remaining perfectly sober.

_Of all times, I sure could use enough to get me drunk now, _Severus thought. _A bottle of Firewhiskey and I won't know left from right, much less that I am being ordered around by someone who likely has less education and less authority than I do._

"Smells good, don't it?" Mering grinned atSeverus, who immediately looked to his bare feet and sniffed. He would not let Mering think he wanted or needed anything – Mering would only use that as means to taunt him, and Severus knew it.

"Of course we're going there first – I need something in my stomach if I'm expected to run around Hogsmeade all day." Mering started for the door. "Follow three paces behind me, and don't you even think of running. I have eyes in the back of my head."

_Sure you do, _Severus thought dryly. Purposefully, he followed four paces behind Mering. It was trivial enough for Mering not to notice or care, and a way for Severus to still be in control. He dreaded going into the inn, surrounded by people who very well knew who he was. As Potions Master at Hogwarts, he had been a hermit in his own right, preferring the dungeons to the company of people, but it was not like he did not enjoy the occasional visit to the nearby village. The people in Hogsmeade would know he was Hogwarts' former Potions Master, a former Death Eater turned slave.

_Do not show any sort of humiliation – act as if you are here on Hogwarts business, or on leisure._

He knew why Mering wanted to take him to Hogsmeade. He had known that the moment Mering had told him. Mering wanted to test Severus, to see if Severus was ready for the "next step", to see if Severus was getting settled in his ways as a slave. Severus was not yet sure what he wanted Mering to think – if Mering thought "no, he is not ready", then Severus only faced more punishments and was less likely to be auctioned off at Henderson's, which was obviously the best thing he was going to get if someone didn't help him soon. But to get Mering to think he _was_ broken, he would have to submit to orders in public, continue to look down at his feet... something Severus was not thrilled to be doing. To him, it was a sign of defeat.

_It is a sign of control, _Severus reminded himself, carefully avoiding a sharp rock on the dirt road. _You are still in control, manipulating Mering._ He found himself having to remind himself of that more often, which he did not appreciate. Because how exactly was he manipulating Mering now? Before, he had been fooling Mering into thinking he was being broken, but now what? He was obeying him left and right if you forgot the Patronus incident. Broken meant trained to obey...

"You're to kneel beside my chair, out of the way, understood? Remember the spell I promised you? The pit of glass shards?" Mering questioned Severus outside the Hog's Head.

Severus nodded before murmuring "yes, Master". He had known better than to hope for a bar stool of his own. Not that he really cared. He was ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but he was feeling lucky that Mering was bringing him into the bar. He had half-expected to be chained up out front like an animal.

He resisted the urge to finger the collar around his neck. Thanks to the style of the robe, the collar was on display for anyone who wanted to look at it. He noticed many people milling about the street did, in fact, stare. But they quickly turned away when they noticed Severus' sharp glare.

_And, of course, the man wants to mortify you even further._ Severus was not an idiot. He knew the reason Mering consistently dished out insults towards him. The lower Severus thought of himself, the more likely he would be to obey. Severus was not going to give Mering that satisfaction. It was unfortunate that the consequences for disobedience were so high.

Mering sat down on a bar stool and began to idly chat with the man seated next to him. Severus paid them no attention as he knelt on the wooden floor.

_Occlude. Life manages to be so much more liveable when you are not aware of where you are. _He found himself wishing it _was_ a Saturday – if it _was_ a Saturday where the Hogwarts students were permitted to visit Hogsmeade, surely some of the Slytherin students would have hexed Mering for his treatment of their Head of House. Or a Gryffindor, as much as they hated Severus, would attempt some brave act that would either help Severus escape or end up making matters worse for him. A Hufflepuff would wind up crying all the way back to Hogwarts in pursuit of Minerva, who in turn, would do something to help... Severus could not believe he was fantasizing about his students seeing him in such a deplorable position, but he was otherwise beginning to feel hopeless. It had been a week – plans took time to execute, he understood from experience, but seven days was a bit too much.

"Severus Snape?" The man behind the bar gasped in astonishment.

Severus looked up from his lap at hearing his name for the first time since being taken from the Ministry. "Yes, sir?" He asked, conscious of Mering's trained eyes on him.

_Get me out of here, _he stared at the man behind the counter. What was his name... Jerry something. He had had a son in Slytherin years back, and had been worried about his Charms grade. Severus had had many long conversations with the man, as his son's Head of House.

"You're... I heard the news, but I thought it was just more of Rita Skeeter's trash!" He exclaimed, his eyes more on Severus' tattooed forehead than his eyes.

_Look at my eyes! _Severus wanted to scream. He was capable of sending messages with his eyes if he pleased to. One look and you knew what he wanted.

"You thought wrong, then, sir." Severus said, reverting his eyes back to his lap. _Just to be on the safe side._

The man shook his head. "So, is it true then? You were a Death Eater?"

_Oh Merlin... _Severus eyed Mering, who seemed to be just as curious about Severus' answer as the man behind the bar. He was giving no clues as to what to say. "For a short time, I served the Dark Lord, before coming to my senses and doing everything I could to defeat him." He paused, wondering how much information to disclose. More, in this case, would be more beneficial than less. "Shortly before the death of James and Lily Potter, I approached Albus Dumbledore and asked what I could do to serve the Light."

"However, there is nothing he could do to redeem himself after _two years_ of devoted service to the Dark Lord." Mering shook his head. "Can you imagine the lives he took in two years? The lives he ruined?"

"I did not hurt anyone," Severus muttered, knowing that whatever he said now to contradict Mering would only end in punishment. He did not really hurt that many people when truly working for the Dark Lord, he knew that much. He had really only joined up to get his mind off Lily, to focus on his other love, the Dark Arts. He knew it was a mistake when he did it.

"Er... would you like to order, sir?" Jerry's attention went to Mering, who was beginning to look a bit impatient.

As Mering ordered what was bound to be a meal for himself and not for Severus, Severus stared defiantly at anyone who cared to look?at him. He might be kneeling on the floor, but overall, it was nothing to stare at. Most of the people began to turn away at his harsh glare.

Mering placed a bowl of water on the ground next to Severus. "Drink it – you look awful."

As Severus cupped his hands and began drinking the cool, clean water, he Occluded his mind. If he could just exist, and not be there, not really, perhaps he would be all right.

**Coming up next in _Unwell_...  
Chapter Ten:_ My Pain, Your Pleasure_**

**A/N: **_When posting the betaed version of this chapter in late 2011, I realised that at the original time of posting chapter nine, this story had less than 50 reviews. It now has over 1,000. The amount of people who read this story a day astounds me. I cannot thank readers and reviewers enough for their kindness and enthusiasm; it is really appreciated. Also, a special shout-out to Greenling, without whom there would not be a betaed version of "Unwell" for all to enjoy._


	10. My Pain, Your Pleasure

**********Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

********Chapter Ten  
"My Pain, Your Pleasure"

* * *

"You're to cook it _properly,_" Mering emphasized. "Our guest likes steak done medium-rare, and if not done right..."

Severus just nodded as he looked at the floor. His feet were finally properly clean.

Mering had been going on for three days about a special guest that he was having over, likely the colleague he had gone to meet the day of the Patronus incident. Mering had wanted everything to be just perfect, it seemed. Even Severus. He had provided the soap and such for Severus to clean himself with, and had even given Severus a perfectly clean cloth to wear. That alone silently taunted Severus – he was so pleased to be clean, to be wearing clean clothes, that it tortured him. He knew that it was his right as a human being to be clean, that what he was wearing around his waist hardly constituted clothing and yet, in the back of his mind, he was pleased.

Mering continued to drone on, Severus only half-listening. He understood perfectly what was expected of him. He was to use the supplies Mering provided him to cook a fine meal for Mering and his mystery guest. Severus would be allowed to join them (kneeling beside Mering, of course). The excitement that brought Severus put another pit into his stomach. He was looking _forward _to the prospect of kneeling beside someone, eating food out of their hands or even worse, off the floor when Mering felt too lazy to actually hold onto the scrap? But Severus could not deny that he was. He had missed so many meals that having the promise of one was terrific.

_Perhaps this guest is someone from the Ministry, _Severus thought, his mind racing. _Perhaps it is Shacklebolt! That would be an important guest that Mering would want to please. Surely it is someone coming to help me._ Severus had become absolutely sure of that from the moment he found out about the special guest. It only made sense – Mering was really looking forward to the guest coming and Mering was very much ingratiated with the Ministry. Surely the guest really had alternative motives for coming, that of seeing to Severus' rescue. _In a few hours, I will be in my quarters at Hogwarts, never to take another order from Mering again._

Severus gripped the wand Mering had returned to him. His wand. One thing that had also made him happy over the past week was the continued allowance of Severus using his wand. When he behaved, he got to use his wand more often. It was quite the godsend for making meals, and when Mering was not looking, Severus was able to employ a few cleaning spells on himself and his surroundings. To not have to manually scrub the kitchen floor again would be wonderful.

_He is breaking you, _a voice in his head reminded him. _His goal is to make you happy in your position. Remember what he told the Auror, that within a month, he would have you _begging _to serve people?_

_I do not beg for anything. _He argued. _Is it so wrong for me to accept that there is nothing I can do to escape? The windows and doors are locked securely. If I try to change into raven-form, the collar now changes size with me and weighs me down so I cannot fly. I cannot Apparate without making noise and even if I _could_, the Ministry would receive notice. I am not giving up – I am merely biding my time._

Severus had discovered a lot over the past week. Since going to Hogsmeade, he had employed certain... tactics. Saying things around Mering such as "I could Apparate there and back for you – it would make things much easier for you" led Mering to believe Severus was far more "broken" than he was, and also gave Severus the chance to learn of his disadvantages, such as that a slave had to be cleared by the owner to Apparate and until they were, it was illegal to do so. It was basically a sensor, not unlike the one for under-age magic. Severus had a feeling that Mering did not _mean_ for all the information to slip that did, but Severus was grateful for the way he got the information. The Slytherin way. He was not at all broken. A slave would not manoeuvre around their master like Severus did Mering.

Regardless of a permanent spell, the fact that Severus would always have to be legally owned by someone, he was still hopeful. Surely someone from the Order would purchase him and simply let him move on with his life. They would not expect him to serve anyone or anything. They might expect a refund for the amount of Galleons they spent on him, but Severus could always pay them back someday. As a Potions Master at Hogwarts, he was not significantly wealthy, but neither was he poor. He was not a materialistic person, so had plenty in his vault at Gringotts... not that the Ministry hadn't taken every last knut for "damages" from the War. But it would not take him long to save enough Galleons to pay someone back, a mere year or two, perhaps.

_How much does a slave cost? It must be a substantial amount, as usually only the wealthy own slaves... but surely someone has that much. Arthur and Molly received an award from the Ministry that would allow Arthur to quit his job... _He was not normally willing to accept charity, but he had pulled the Weasleys out of many grim situations. This would merely be payback.

_And of course Potter has his hero-complex. He could afford to- _he grimaced. He would rather die than be rescued by Harry Potter _again_. It was simply too humiliating. James was probably laughing about it, wherever he was.

The doorbell rang. "Get that, slave!" Mering called from upstairs.

With a flourish of his wand, Severus did the spell that would properly cook the meat before heading to the front door. Mering often alternated between "Snape" and "slave" as forms of address for Severus. Severus was perfectly aware why – Mering did not see Severus as a human, so he was undeserving of a name. And on top of that, being constantly reminded of his status would only aid in breaking Severus. Severus had ignored Mering when he called him "slave" the first few days, but quickly found it not worth it. A painful spell that involved boiling boils had taught him that.

Severus opened the door to a woman in her fifties or older. Her bright red hair looked to be unnatural, especially for a woman of her age. She wore much too much make-up. Her frame was on the larger side of medium, as far as women's frames went. Her eyes looked to be almost lavender – Severus was not sure if that was a spell, the light, or the woman's make-up, but the colour was definitely not natural. She wore extravagant tortoise-coloured robes that glittered in the setting sun... they were sequinned robes. The impressionshe gave was not a comforting one – manipulative, calculative, shrewd. Whilst Severus endorsed those characteristics in Slytherin, they were not supposed to emanate as an aura. People who had a manipulative aura about them were up to no good, end of discussion.

Severus swallowed the bile that built in his throat in the split second it took to analyse and pass judgement on the woman. His years as a spy and in Slytherin made any extra time unnecessary. "Come in, miss," he said, stepping back and bowing his head as she entered. _Why is it, that after making such a big deal that I behave properly in front of her, that Mering did not teach me how to answer the door? _Severus would have done that first thing. First-impressions were generally everything and happened within the first thirty seconds for most people.

"Where's Nigel?" She snapped at Severus, who shut the door behind her.

"Upstairs, miss. He should be down shortly." _Be polite, be polite... how do you politely invite someone into your home? _Severus rarely had company and when he did, he rarely took the pains to be politic. "May I offer you something to drink? Dinner will be ready shortly."

She looked at him critically. Severus tried not to show his discomfort as he felt her lavender eyes appraise him. He resisted the urge to snap at her or use Legilimency. Surely whatever the woman was here for, it would not prove beneficial to him. Perhaps she was someone from Henderson's? Or worse, someone from the Ministry that would be intent on making him more miserable? The Ministry had a tendency to do that to him.

"A glass of water," she said shortly.

Severus nodded. "In a moment, miss." He made a mad dash for the kitchen, glad to get away from her critical eyes. He checked on supper as he filled a glass with water, chilling it with a quick spell. The spell he had on the meat was still ongoing, as was the spell mashing the potatoes. He would need to supervise the grilling of the asparagus and the cheesecake was already made, in a cabinet he had cast a chilling spell on... he was grateful that Mering had been somewhat understanding about the lack of knowledge Severus had in cooking. He had supplied a cookbook and the food he had wanted prepared. Cooking had come easily to Severus, as it was a lot like Potions, though less precise by far.

_Mering had better be pleased, _he tried to ignore the worried feeling in his stomach that Mering might not be. A failed meal would not be working Severus any favours – impressing the woman seemed to be important to Mering, and if Severus failed, punishment would definitely be in order.

He delivered the glass of water to her wordlessly. Severus could not stand obvious announcements such as "here you go" - it would be quite obvious that he was handing her a glass of water. He needn't announce it.

"You're here!" Mering exclaimed, coming down the stairs much faster than he did whenever Severus was dreading his presence.

_Speaking of obvious announcements..._Severus silently excused himself back to the kitchen as Mering kissed the woman on the cheek and sat down with her on the sofa. Unfortunately, the kitchen and the living room were very well connected, without a wall separating them, and he could hear every word spoken. Rumour at Hogwarts had it that Severus could hear an extra screwt eyeball land in a cauldron from one hundred paces – it was true.

"Your new slave has been trained well," the woman commented.

Severus gritted his teeth at that as he cut the ends off the asparagus. He was _not_ trained at all. He was simply biding his time.

"He is," Mering agreed. "He is still very stubborn though, and has a sarcastic streak. I'll have the stubbornness beat out of him in another week though. The sarcasm will be gone soon enough on its own – I'm going to leave it. It gives him a personality that the other slaves at Henderson's won't have. It'll set him apart."

_As if I am a Potion he is brewing, _Severus set two plates on the table, one ateach end. _'Oh, I'll just not put in this ingredient for the time being'. As if he could control- I am _not _stubborn. I merely refuse to obey his every word._

"Is he aware of why I'm here?" The woman inquired.

Mering chuckled, a chuckle that always put fear in Severus' heart. It was a sadistic, evil chuckle. The chuckle Mering always gaveright before a beating or other punishment, or whenever Severus did something wrong he would later bepunished for. An amused chuckle, but a frightening one. "Of course he doesn't know. Why would I tell him? I never tell any of my slaves. And he can hear you, so be careful of what you say."

Severus looked down at the counter, furiously rotating the grilling asparagus. Of course Mering had to know he was listening! Why did he always have to act like Severus was so predictable? That was another thing Severus hated about Mering. He was creating a list in his head – so far, he had three hundred forty-three things he hated about Nigel Mering. The fact that he treated Severus like a five-year-old sometimes would be three hundred forty-four.

_She is not here to help you, that is for sure._ He placed the platter of steak on the table, the bowl of mashed potatoes floating next to him until he could place it next to the steak. He summoned a spoon to serve themwith and pushed it into the mashed potatoes before setting the bowl on the table. _Do not further delude yourself thinking that she is. She is here for something that has to do with me... probably to determine me ready to sell. _

Well, if that werethe case, he had to prove himself ready. Another day in Mering's company and he might have to _Avada Kedavra _himself. Severus did not take that thought lightly – he had considered it seriously several times in his thirty-eight years, often times the only deterrent from it being defeat. Killing himself would say he was weak, that he could not handle life. And he could, even if he had to suffer living to prove it.

He stepped into the living room, his eyes to his feet, as much as he wished to glare at Mering and his company. "Dinner is ready," he announced.

_I wish I were a House-Elf. At least they get surge of pride when they make such announcements._

* * *

_The Hufflepuffs I taught in 1985. Name all the Hufflepuffs from 1985. Barbara Kissinger, Lucas Treadaway... _It was not easy, but reciting information such as that were the only distractionsthat could save Severus sometimes. By focusing his concentration on something he had long forgotten, or did not think about on a regular basis, he was able to perform whatever tasks he was given. Sometimes eating could be a task all of its own.

Severus forced himself to swallow the wad of fat Mering had given him. If he refused to eat it, he wouldn't be given anything else. And Severus knew he _had_ to eat. He could not afford to refuse anything. He was already not consuming enough as it was.

"She asked me if I liked it!" The woman at the table shrieked, her mouth full of potatoes. "Can you _imagine_, Nigel?"

_Ten points from you for talking with your mouth full, _Severus silently uttered.

"I honestly can't," Mering said. "Snape, hand me the wand."

_My wand. _He hated how Mering refused to call it "your wand".

Severus looked at the wand in his hands, suffering the inward battle he always did when handing it over. He knew it was just because Mering did not trust him with it for long periods of time, that he was not likely to be punished for anything because of it, but it still bothered him, to hand over what could be his salvation were he idiotic enough to try to Apparate or otherwise disappear with it.

He handed the wand over, suddenly not trusting himself. If left alone too long with it, he very well could get it into his head to Apparate away. And that would only bring the Ministry further into the mess, he would have to spend even _longer_ at Mering's, and would get punished to boot.

"Go upstairs. The second room on the left. I need to speak with Medusa alone."

"Yes, Master." Severus got up in one fluid motion and crossed the kitchen, through the living room, and to the stairs.

_Medusa_. He chuckled inwardly. _It would make sense, that._ Medusa was the name of a vain witch who was cursed, and had her hair turn into snakes. An evil, manipulative woman she was. He began to tentatively climb the stairs, shooting cautious looks towards the direction of the kitchen.

Once upstairs, he stopped outside the first doorway, which was on his left. He peered in – it was an empty room. Though dark, he could see from the light in the hall that the floor and walls were stained, with blood no doubt.

_Do not let yourself wonder what happened in there. _Severus was no stranger to painful and bizarre forms of torture – the Dark Lord was as evil and sadistic as people came – but now he was in the position of having to dread it happening to _him_, instead of merely witnessing it. It made the entire experience quite different.

The second room on the left was properly lit. The walls were painted white, the hardwood floor scratched, but clean. There was a single double-hung window directly across from the doorway and between that and the left wall, a simple double four-poster bed, not unlike the one Severus had slept in at Hogwarts, though it lacked the curtains. There was a simple dresser to the right, and a bedside table below the window. Upon further examination, Severus found that the room had both a closet and a bathroom attached.

_Did he say 'the second door to the left'? I am sure he did. _But surely Mering would not send Severus into a comfortable room just to... to get out of his way? Perhaps he meant to send Severus into the first room on the left – but there had to be purpose for getting sent upstairs, otherwise he would have just sent Severus to the basement.

He peered out the window. He could see the family in the house across the street gathered in the living room, playing a game, laughing.

He felt his stomach twist involuntarily. He knew that his wish to love and marry Lily shouldn't have stopped him from simply living and enjoying life after her death, but he just hadn't fallen in love again. He did not know if it was because he was still too attached to her memory or something else. Perhaps Lily had really been meant for him, that there really was no one else. Nevertheless, he did not have a wife, children, or anyone he could claim as family or anything remotely close to it. Most people avoided him like the plague... of course the students would, for he was snide and rude to them, but even normal people avoided him. He did not have the best of social skills, but...

_You are rambling. In your own head. _Severus could not stand people who rambled. _You will spend the next two hundred years alone in the familial sense, which is fine by you. You cannot miss what you never have had._

"Hem-hem." He heard someone cough behind him.

He whirled around, eyes wide, expecting to see Dolores Umbridge behind him. The last thing he needed to see was that woman, that monstrous, nauseating, vile, priggish woman. He had spent a year in hell with her already, three years ago. But no, it was not her signature fake cough. It was Mering's guest, Medusa.

"A bit on edge, I see," she said in an overly sweet voice, like sugar mixed thick with honey.

He took a step backwards against the window, not lowering his eyes to the floor like he knew he should.

"Can I help you, miss?" He asked coldly, his standard monotone seeping in. He had tried to be less himself around Mering and company – his normalway of talking could be taken as rude – but he was startled.

"Oh, no – I'm fine." She gave an overly fake sigh as she stood in the doorway, her hands on her stomach. Very Umbridge-like.

"Ah... if you and Master are indeed through eating, I shall go clear the table-" He started past her, but she did not give him room to pass.

"Oh, Nigel already took care of that. A flick of the wand and it is finished, you know." She paused. "Actually, Nigel already left. He had to go to Italy to remind a client's slave of his place."

Severus never thought he would find himself wishing for Mering to be there. "Ah... am I to presume that you are here to train me in his stead? To be the one to shackle me in the basement, to... ah, punish me as you deem fit." He hoped not. Umbridge had had cruel methods of punishment, and he could only imagine that this Medusa woman would be worse. Much worse. But he would not submit to her punishments. He refused to be whipped and beat by her. He only let Mering punish him because Mering was legally his owner and if he attacked, he would die, which would be defeat. Medusa was not his owner – he could break her neck and... suffer the consequences when Mering came home.

She smiled. A smile, like Mering's chuckle, that went against the normal emotions a smile conveyed. Her smile showed malicious intent. "I am not going to shackle you in the basement, you silly slave."

_'I am not going to shackle you in the basement', _his Slytherin mind repeated what she said in her mind. "Where are you going to shackle me?"

She raised a brow. "Nowhere, if you behave." She pulled out a wand which, like Umbridge's, was remarkably short, no longer than seven or eight inches. A flick of the wand and heavy eggplant coloured curtains appeared on the window, covering the window so that they could not see out and no one could see in.

Severus just stared at her, his eyes glittering of coldness and malevolence. She stared back, her eyes invoking ill will.

_Just probe a little. Just enough to get a sense of what she wants, but not enough for her to realize what you're doing. _He hadn't learnt Legilimency for nothing. He entered her mind, fearful of what he might find... but before he could even get his bearings in the woman's mind, she slapped him, making him lose all concentration.

"If you were supposed to use Legilimency on your superiors, someone would have told you so." She snapped.

Severus shot her a look of pure venom. "And what makes you think I have the skills to use Legilimency? Quite plainly, I-"

"Oh please. You served He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named. Of course you can use Legilimency," she scoffed. "Now, slave, we can do this the easy way or the hard way." She took a step forward, waved her wand and the doorway disappeared behind her, leaving no way out.

Severus backed up again. It did not take an Order of Merlin (which he had very well deserved) to start to piece together the woman's intent. It did, however, take quite a bit of manoeuvring to escape. "When will Master be back?" He inquired.

Medusa stepped up to him. He backed up so quickly that he knocked himself into the bedside table and still, there was not enough space between them.

She was getting closer... he felt a surge of magic rush through him that he had not felt since he was a child. He took deep breaths and closed his eyes tightly. He would not perform accidental magic, he would not. That would only end up disastrous at best.

"I'm not going to hurt you if you behave," she cooed, tracing his prominent cheekbones with a dry, scaly hand.

_You're going to hurt me regardless of what I do. I cannot win. I might as well postpone it. _"Perhaps Master will come back from Italy earlier than expected," he tried, easing his way down the wall, away from the woman.

She laughed, a high-pitched squeal, really. "Do not think you can slip and slide your way out of this one, slave. I come from a long line of Slytherins, and spent years getting paid by rich people for the service you will be getting, free to you, tonight."

His heart began to beat faster. He was Head of Slytherin House – he could get out of this. "You were in Slytherin? What years did you attend Hogwarts?" _Distract her. Do anything to distract her._

"Does it matter? I left school and began working the streets in fifth year. Evading, are we?" She gripped his left wrist. "Come, slave." She tugged on his wrist.

_Resist. But do it subtly – it will do you no good to resist so forcefully. _He abandoned the urge to grip onto the wall or window and numbly followed her back to the centre of the bedroom.

"You left school in fifth year." He had to keep her mind off the task at hand. "It must have been hard." He thought of the people standing in the dark streets, striking deals with the lonely but wealthy. Those people looked like they had very hard lives.

She shrugged. "You survive. I wound up making a deal with Nigel many years ago, just as I left my prime. I break his slaves, I get some of the profit."

_She really intends to... her intention really is to... _"I am afraid you are a bit late for that," he commented.

She stared at him, giving him more mental attention than she had the rest of the evening. "Excuse me? Late?"

He nodded. "You can get a prostitute for very few Galleons at Knockturn Alley. And in Hogsmeade as well." He shook his head, letting a dry chuckle escape. "I imagine the Ministry was a bit depressed when they got their hands on my Gringotts vault – I am afraid a lovely little lady named Esmeralda Keator has a majority of its contents." _Let her think you would be the one breaking her, not the other way around._

It only added to his distress when she shrugged. "So I get paid and you get a night of your favourite activity. It's a win-win situation."

"Let us not and say we did," he argued as she tried to tug him to the bed. He kept his feet firmly planted on the hardwood floor though. He was not about to budge. "That way you still will get paid and I..." He leaned forward to speak in a low voice, "Master deemed it suiting to punish me by covering certain parts of me with painful blisters, if you catch my meaning." He resisted the urge to turn red. He was not used to speaking of anything to do with certain body parts, and to have to make lies up about it was easier said than done.

Her eyes narrowed. "Let me see."

"I'd rather you didn't." He stepped backwards, gripping his hands firmly on the cloth he wore. "It is rather humiliating and I dare say I've suffered enough." He hesitated. "If on the off-chance I _am_ sold for pleasure purposes, I assure you, miss, I know how to make people happy."

_Actually, I haven't a clue, but please do not try to teach me. _He had lost his virginity at nineteen after a brief, one-night stand with someone whose name he could not quite recall. He had felt extremely guilty and angry afterwards, and hadn't made any sexual overturessince. He just could not do something like that with someone whom he did not love, and he could not imagine loving anyone like he loved Lily. The fact that she had died seventeen years ago meant nothing.

She nodded. "Thank you for sharing, but on the matter of getting sold, half of the purpose of engaging in this act with you is to promoteobedience." She brandished her wand. "Now disrobeor I might feel the need to increase the amount of blisters that you have."

He swallowed. "Please, miss, I will do anything else. Anything." _Do not beg. This is tremendously close to begging._

She shook her head. "I will not use a disrobing spell on you, slave. You will obey me if it takes a week of orders and _Cruciatus_."

_You cannot use an Unforgivable on me. You are not my owner. _He did not bother to remind her of that fact though. Unforgiveables were not traceable, and Mering probably would not care if she used the Unforgiveables on Severus. But he did not know what else to say. He would not beg, he would not suffer the _Cruciatus_ yet again, and he would not get in bed with that woman.

Ignoring the fact that she looked horrid, reminded him of Umbridge, and smelled like some of the creatures Hagrid kept, he had a sense of propriety. He, unlike most men, did not feel the urge to sleep with every woman he laid eyes on. And as Lily was the only woman he had ever met that he had ever loved on an emotional level... for years, he was convinced that to sleep with anyone else would be disloyal to her, and after she died, he had lost such interests altogether, immersing himself in spying, vengeance, and Potions. It was a fact of which he was not necessarily ashamed, but not one he would readily admit to anyone.

She stepped very close to him, running her hands down his arms, neck and torso. "Loosen up," she whispered into his ear. "You're supposed to concentrate on making this pleasurable for me, nothing else."

_I do not know how. _He honestly had few memories of that one night, and the ones he did have involved him being drunk, awkward, and clumsy. He took a step back. "Surely we can negotiate-"

"No negotiating," she said, gripping his wrist forcefully. She reached for the knot that tied his cloth and when she touched it... shrieked and jumped back.

"What did you do?" Medusa screeched at him.

He blanched involuntarily. "I do not know, miss. I would call that 'accidental magic'."

Her eyes flashed angrily. "'Accidental magic', Merlin's foot! People outgrow accidental magic as children!"

"But perhaps it comes back at times of need," he suggested, not able to help but feel relief now that she was at the opposite end of the room.

"Disrobe," she said icily, "or you will reap the consequences. A beating that will tear up body parts you did not know you even _had._"

_It is hopeless. You are at the mercy of Mering, of this woman... of the entire world. Shacklebolt, Minerva, the Order... it has been two weeks. They are letting it come to this. Are they never coming?_He was starting to doubt they ever would. Perhaps they were _glad_ the cynical, greasy-haired Potions Master was gone. He had served his purpose as Dumbledore's spy, Dumbledore's murderer, protector of Draco Malfoy... no one needed him any longer. For anything. People always abandoned him after they had exhausted his uses. He was as good as dead to them.

Hands shaking, Severus' long thin fingers began to fumble at the knot in the cloth. He had tied it tightly in the first place for good reason – so that it would not easily come untied. Once untied, he took a quiet deep breath and laid it over the bedside table, then turnedback to face Medusa, his eyes full of defiance and anger. He buried the fear and anxiety deep within him, refusing to let it show.

"_Tsk, tsk,_" she said, surveying him. "Do you realize how many slaves I have had try tolie their way out of this?"

"Surely you cannot blame them for it," Severus said evenly. The sight of the woman burned his eyes – if she were somewhat easy on the eyes, perhaps the experience wouldn't be _quite_ as horrible. But then again, who was he to talk?

She stepped close to him. It took everything Severus had not to flinch at her touch. The goosebumps rising on him were obvious enough. "Just lie back and think of England," she whispered. "Make this as pleasurable as you can and I might not find it necessary to punish you..."

Images flashed through Severus' mind as he tried to remove her robes. The first time he saw the Hogwarts Express. Smirking with Lily behind Slughorn's back. Laying against her and talking of dreams under a tall oak tree. The day he called her a "mudblood". The day he first saw her snogging Potter. When he found out he was responsible for her death. When Nagini was about to bite him and he thought all was lost... he had gone through so much, and this was how he was repaid? Why couldn't Potter have just let Nagini killhim? He would have died then and been pain-free. But no, Potter and his hero-complex... he was too wrapped up in his memories to focus on the task at hand, which Medusa obviously noticed.

"You have never done this before, have you?" She smirked, her now unclothed body reminding Severus of just how cruel fate was. Why was it that James Potter got Lily and Severus was left _pleasuring_ people with no way out? Yes, he could kill Medusa now, but then Mering would beat him literally within an inch of his life... and Severus would not be able to do anything to stop him.

Because he couldn't attack Mering. It would be defeat.

But Medusa was right. Severus _hadn't_ done this before, if you forgot the one drunken time that hardly constituted any experience. He knew it sounded a mite pathetic and unbelievable for a man of his age, but he just hadn't had the _need_. His 'relationship' with Lily hadn't exactly been in the platonic sense, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't, many years ago, envisioned doing quite a few things with her and her body, but it hadn't been at the core of what he wanted. He had just wanted someone to love him just as much as he loved her... and after she died, all was lost in that sense. No one would ever love him, not in a romantic way, nor in any other way. And he couldn't expect them to – he was not a friendly man, and was far from desirable. Yet that hadn't mattered. All that mattered to him from 1981 onwards was vengeance, Potions, and keeping a certain child alive.

He was not an idiot. He fully understood the mechanics of the act. But how it was done to be _pleasurable_, he was not quite certain. Everything had made sense in the fantasies he had had when he was younger, but when the time actually came...

"Just don't think," she told him, pushing him gently onto the bed.

_Do not think. Occlude. Forget where you are, what you are doing and just act on impulses... _That was easier said than done for a Slytherin – forgetting yourself and acting on impulses was for Gryffindors – but he would. Because that would be the only way he'd survive that night.

******Coming Up Next in **_**Unwell**_**...  
****Chapter Eleven: **_**What Is the Use?**_


	11. What Is the Use?

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

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_**A/N: I warned you in the beginning that this was not a happy story. I feel I must do this again; if you wish to read a story about happy people who do happy things who live happily ever after, let me direct you off this page, for you will not find that here. However, if you have a strange urge to read about broken people, with broken wills, broken pride, broken bodies, broken minds, and worse, by all means, continue to read. This story does not have a happy beginning, middle, and only in the very end does it turn bitter-sweet. I demand untold amounts of "hurt" before delivering "comfort". Because in reality, people in the situation depicted would be lucky to get the latter.  
This story is depressing. Consider yourself warned.**_

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**Chapter Eleven  
"What Is the Use?"**

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"I heard that you were pretty difficult to get into bed last night." Mering commented the next day as he leaned against a tree, watching Severus go through the slow and tedious process of sprouting grass in the backyard. Even with his wand, it was difficult. Unless one had a natural affinity for Herbology, it could take hours.

Severus did not answer. He was too focused on remembering the incantation for one thing, and he also did not feel like speaking. He had avoided speaking to Mering all day. He did not want to think about last night, about the past two weeks, about his current situation, about any rescue plan... he just wanted to focus on the spells he was allowed to perform, or on cooking, which he had discovered was as close to Potions as he was going to get at Mering's. If he allowed himself to wallow in memories or his current circumstances, he would also begin to wallow in self-pity. And he could not allow that to happen. He was sinking further into despair as it was – perhaps no one _was_ coming. Perhaps he really was worthless, like Mering said. He had already fulfilled all his uses at Hogwarts and for the Order – why would they come try to help him? They had no reasons to.

"I suppose we'll have to set you up a few more obedience lessons." Mering chuckled.

He would not survive another "obedience lesson" if it involved Medusa. Being taken advantage like that... he would not replay the images in his mind. Why had he let himself be forced into it? He was stronger than that, smarter than that, more determined that that... but it would have all been useless. He knew that regardless of how long he had fought her off, that through whatever means he had used, she would have bested him. Because Mering would have bested him. He had to do what Mering said, what anyone said. If he was not quick to heed, he would simply be punished, and then forced to do the original task anyhow. He could not win – what was the use of fighting them off?

"I received an angry letter from the Minister last week." Mering continued as Severus used every bit of strength he had to bring forth a patch of dead grass. "It seems he disagrees with the Auror Department's decision to force you into slavery, along with the other Death Eaters. Seems to think that you're innocent."

Was he innocent? He was not sure of that any longer. He hadn't truthfully worked for the Dark Lord long before he turned to the Light, and even when he did work for the Dark Lord... the things he did were not that wrong, were they? He never relished in hurting people – he had only joined the Dark Lord's ranks because... because he needed something to keep his mind on. Something to prove him worthy. And the Dark Lord had _accepted_ him. He had convinced the Dark Lord that his hands could not have blood on them to brew his Potions early on... and he had worked so hard as a spy. But 'innocent' had never described Severus, not even as a child.

"He offered quite a sum of money for you. Eight thousand Galleons." Mering sighed, as if in longing.

_The Minister – Shacklebolt – wants to buy you. Eight thousand Galleons. But Mering would not sell me to him. Not if he knew the Minister – Shacklebolt – would treat me well._

"I told him to attend Henderson's." Mering continued. "That he could purchase you there. That you are not trained well enough to be bought just now."

So Shacklebolt was going to buy him. Severus was not sure if that was a good thing any longer.

Would he treat him well? He was a noble man, but he was also firm, and had shown little mercy to many people in the past... and Severus would have to do whatever the man said. How would the man punish him? What types of duties would he expect Severus to perform? It made Severus sick just to think about – suppose the man was still angry over the incident with George Weasley's ear (he thought it was George Weasley, but could not be sure. He was an observant man, but the Weasley had looked like bloody Potter at the time). Suppose Shacklebolt wanted to take Severus' ear in return. Suppose he let Weasley do it.

In the back of Severus' mind, he knew he was being irrational. He knew he was simply upset over how the previous night had turned out. He had been hopeful that the guest was going to save him, and the guest turned out to harm him. But not so much in the physical way that the guest had thought she had harmed him. No, she had harmed Severus' hope. She had made him realize how virtually hopeless hit situation was, of how little choice he had in the matter. Of how _dependent_ he was on other people to have pity on him, to have mercy. Severus had always been independent, with little tolerance for pity.

Now he needed it to survive.

He knew, in the back of his mind, that Shacklebolt would not harm him. No, he would make sure there was a roof over Severus' head and food to eat. He would likely even give Severus a warm bed to sleep in. He would likely avoid ordering Severus around, and might even allow him to return to Hogwarts to teach. But that seemed a bit unlikely, that someone would do that. Why wouldn't Shacklebolt try to use Severus' lack of free-will to the best of his advantage? Anyone else would, why wouldn't Shacklebolt?

"So then I asked myself, 'what can I do to make this slave trained well enough to be bought in two weeks'?" Mering continued. "After all, it does not take an Order of Merlin to realize that if you are beat too much, you will begin to weaken. And the Cruciatus needs to be used sparingly, or you will lose your mind... then I realized that it does not matter how I choose to punish you, because you will obey my every word, won't you, slave?" He chuckled. "Oh, power is _good_..."

Severus did not even hear the man. He was concentrating too hard on bringing forth another patch of grass, which he did successfully. Why was the grass dead though? He could perform various spells to make it green again, but he did not know those spells well. He had never thought he would need them. He had taken it upon himself at a young age to learn obscure things, like how to remove body parts and exchange them with foreign objects, or how to make someone go mad with pain, but had never learned many of the basic household spells. He never honestly thought he would have a house that he would care to take care of. Oh, he took care of Spinner's End, he supposed, but he never went through the work of keeping its appearance up. Hadn't cared enough to. He was the only one who lived there. He had no one to impress with his house.

"I spoke with Henderson yesterday. He seems to think you will sell well, regardless of being a Death Eater. Says that a few other former Death Eaters will be there, but not many, and will not sell for as much. Aren't very well trained, you see. Plus they are older, or less capable of controlling themselves." Mering sighed, as if pleased with himself.

_My controlling myself is a result of years of practice, years of being taunted for my emotions, years of knowing that conveying emotions only made one weak. _Severus thought. _It is nothing you taught me._

"Medusa seems to think that you have had a lack of lovers in the past." Mering said suddenly. "She also is sticking adamantly to our deal of 'one stand per slave'. Shame really – I don't want someone to buy you for that purpose and regret it."

How many people bought a slave solely for that purpose? Severus did not want to know. If someone wanted a slave to cook and clean, they would just buy a House-Elf.

_I suppose I cannot just transfigure the dirt into grass, _he stared at the dry soil surrounding him. _Mering said to 'create' grass, not to transfigure it._

"Get in the shower." Mering said suddenly.

Severus looked up and stared at Mering, surprised at the words that came out of his mouth. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Get in the shower. Use the soap and shampoo I put in there yesterday. Do not leave the bathroom until your hair is _clean_, mind you. What are you doing, staring at me for? Hand me your wand and hop to!"

Hastily, Severus handed his wand to Mering and made a mad-dash into the house. He found himself not caring what Mering's intentions were; he was told to do something that he wanted to do, and he was not about to argue with it, or give time for Mering to change his mind. And on that note, he would just get _punished_ for saying 'no'.

He shut the shower door behind him and quickly turned on the hot water. He needed to get the horrible feeling of that woman _off_ him. She had touched him... all over... the thought just made him cringe.

_But at least she could not harm your brain, _he thought, stepping into the shower. _Remember what you told yourself when you first got into this mess, that so long as your mind was functioning and intact, you would be fine._

_And after 'mind' comes 'pride', _he listed the next most important thing to him as he viciously scrubbed himself with the wash cloth Mering had provided the day before. He paused in his thoughts. Had Mering made his lose his pride? His self-worth, self-respect? _Not necessarily, _he told himself. _The only reason you're questioning your self-worth at all is because of the Order's reluctance to come help you. And the idea that you would need help at all is rather pride-shattering on its own, if not realistic._

He fumed as he washed his hair. How dare Mering make such a huge deal over his hair! It was not that bad, actually, right then. Too much washing would make it even greasier. Why would Mering tell him to wash it? Furthermore, why would Mering tell him to get in the shower when he just had one yesterday? True enough, after... the incident with Medusa the night before, he had smelled rather foul. Of sweat, of... her. But he had smelled worse the entire two weeks and Mering hadn't said anything.

_If I were Mering, what would I be up to? _Truth be told, he could not even begin to wonder how Mering thought. How could Mering so mercilessly own another human being? Let the things be done to him that were done? Do those things to him? He knew the simple answer was that Mering did not see Severus as a human being, but _why not_? It was not as if he were a werewolf – he did not have an underlying animal nature, nor did he become a monster at every full moon. He was just like everyone else, at all times.

_Only you have never felt like anyone else, _a voice reminded him. That was true enough. Severus had always felt... different from other people his age. Even when he was a child, the other children just seemed so carefree and happy... and viewed him as a fly on the wall. He had always been just that, a fly on the wall. He only got noticed when someone wanted something, such as Dumbledore's murder suicide, or Mering's Galleons, which he would receive when Severus was sold. He always felt like he was being woven inside a plot. Or even worse, a plot inside a plot. He had nothing against plots themselves – he was a Slytherin, which meant before going to Mering's, he plotted on a regular basis – but the ones he got _caught up_ in, he couldn't control. And they always had something to do with very powerful wizards – the Dark Lord, Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter...

_I wish I had a time-turner, _he thought. He stared at his thigh and frowned before scrubbing harder. _I would go back to being eleven-years-old and ask Lily to be mine, forever. I would have hexed James Potter straight away so he would know not to mess with me... and then when I was a bit older, go to one meeting with the Dark Lord, pull out a Mandrake, and killed him that way. That way, Harry Potter would have never had to been born, so I could have married Lily, she'd never have died... Merlin! James Potter could _have _Lily. I just would have never joined the Dark Lord, never relayed the prophesy. Lily would have never died._

What he would give to just know Lily was alive and breathing. Not that he had anything to give – he was already giving a lifetime of servitude to someone, whoever it was that was buying him – but it was still wishful thinking.

_Wishful thinking that you have refused to indulge yourself in before. Wishful thinking that you will not allow yourself to indulge in now. All wishful thinking does is lead to bitter disappointment, in your life. _He turned off the tap, knowing that regardless of how much he scrubbed, he would probably never feel clean again.

Towelling off (he denied himself wishing for his wand so he could perform a simple drying spell), he tied his cloth around his waist, not really knowing what good it did him. It was not as if Mering was letting him keep any of his dignity as it was...

Stepping out of the bathroom, he glanced into the living room. Mering was standing there, watching him, waiting for him. His eyes surveyed Severus critically, his lips pursed.

"Come here." He instructed. Severus wordlessly complied. He unconsciously tried to cover the Dark Mark with his right hand – he hated to bear it so openly.

"Clean enough." Mering approved. "Kneel." He began to loosen his belt buckle. After the previous night, Severus immediately had no doubt of the man's intentions.

_I cannot do that! _he inwardly whimpered. He had seen many victims be forced into such by cruel Death Eaters before they were killed. Severus had never been on the giving or receiving end of the act, and had never cared to be. Yet now...

_He cannot _force _you to do anything. If you say 'no' enough, surely he will just give up? _But Severus knew better than that – Mering had endless patience, and would punish Severus all day until the act was completed. Once an order was given, he was going to have to follow through.

He kept his eyes on his own long pale fingers, which he was resting on his knees. Occluding was the only thing working any longer. If he concentrated long and hard enough on nothing, he did not really have to exist. He could go through just about any task whilst hardly being aware he was doing it.

"Begin." Mering simply said, lowering his trousers. "Be mindful of your teeth."

Severus began to breathe heavily. He did not want to this. He wanted to be anywhere – _anywhere – _but there. He would give anything – anything to avoid- _no. If you refuse, he will touch his wand to your forehead. _That was Mering's preferred motivation for Severus to do anything. _That cannot be good for your mind, pain in the head. Just obey. After last evening, it is not-_

He did not get to finish that thought, for he felt blinding pain in his forehead. He shut his eyes tight and hissed. Mering hated hesitation. He was constantly yelling at Severus to "hurry up and do".

Forcing himself to open his eyes, he eyed Mering's member and forced his mouth on it. He did not know what to do, exactly, and he did not care. He was just grateful the pain in his head was going away, as Mering removed his wand.

"Stop that choking." Mering breathed heavily as Severus' gagging muscles came into play.

Severus forced himself to comply and as he did, felt tears silently fall down his face. He did nothing to stop them. Who was he trying to fool? There was no reason to pretend he was strong, worthy of something. He was nothing special – he was just a slave, now.

And just like that, whether Severus quite realized it or not, his pride was shot.

**Coming soon in _Unwell_...  
Chapter Twelve: _Good and Broken_**


	12. Good and Broken

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

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**Chapter Twelve  
"Good and Broken"**

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**After a Fortnight...**

Severus woke up with a gasp, clutching the steel collar around his neck. He hated how it had started to burn every morning when it was time to get up.

He looked dully at the chains that had fallen off his wrists. Master had spelled them to fall off every morning at six, at the same time his collar started to burn. That meant that it was time to get up.

Wearily, he pulled himself up and blindly began to feel his way through the darkness, to the door. He wished, not for the first time, that Master would leave a torch lit for him, but he did not bother wishing too hard for it. He had given up on not wishing for things roughly two weeks ago as he laid on the filthy basement floor, bleeding, hungry, dehydrated, without a wand or hope. Eventually one got so low that they could not _help_ but wish for things. As long as he did not wish too hard for the impossible, he would be all right. He would not waste time wishing for the things he would not get, but for the things he knew he might if he behaved.

He opened the basement door and made his way into the kitchen. He blearily blinked. How did he get to that point? To the point of hopelessness, of being so stuporous that he just went through motions, without actually feeling or thinking? He was not quite sure, and he was not quite sure he cared.

Was it only a month ago that he had sat at the Head Table at Hogwarts, proud and looking down at students with disdain? It seemed like a distant memory – not even his memory, but someone else's. His life seemed to be separated into parts – pre-Hogwarts, school, Death Eater, spy, now. He could remember after the Dark Lord was first defeated in 1981, but before he attempted to return in 1992, he was somewhat normal. Somewhat. Not really. He could not even recall those ten years, actually. Nothing substantial had happened in them.

Almost automatically, he padded over to the refrigerator and pulled out a few eggs and some sausage. He could not really remember what he had made the day before – he had made porridge for Master at some point. Was that yesterday? The day before? He hadn't made eggs and sausage in awhile, so surely Master would not complain over having it too often.

_You have lost your mind, _he told himself as he turned on the water and splashed some on his face. _No, stop that. Do not think that. _He began to submerge himself deep into his mind again. Occluding was what made him so quiet, withdrawn, impaired. If he concentrated long and hard enough on nothing, nothing was what he became. The pain of his beatings diminished, as did the pain of Master's insults. Which he deserved – every lash, every insult – but it still caused him to hurt less.

It was ironic, how in the desperate attempt to spare his sanity and his life, he wound up losing both, in a sense. But he could not help it – if he allowed himself to think, he would start to plot. And if he started to plot... eventually, somewhere in the plot, he would hurt Master. And then he would die... he rarely remembered why that was such a bad thing now – he never allowed himself to think too much before Occluding himself into semi-oblivion.

But things were improving for him. Master had stopped shackling him to the wall. Moreover, he had stopped taking Severus down in the basement in the first place. He trusted Severus to go down and chain himself. If Severus allowed himself to dwell on it, he felt a strange mixture of pride and shame. But he did not – he allowed his mind to rest most of the time, free of thoughts, as he went about his daily routine.

Night time was no longer Severus' favourite part of the day, though. He detested it, now. If he slept, the nightmares came. Even if he Occluded properly, if he slept deep or long enough, the nightmares came. Luckily Master was never there when he had nightmares, or he would get punished for sure, as he nearly always woke up screaming.

No, his favourite times of the day came when Master told or allowed him just to sit on the floor, in the corner. He would stare at the wall or out the window... if he was careful and did not allow his mind to wander too far, he would imagine what the people outside did on a regular basis. He wondered what their names were, what they did for a living... but not much beyond that. If he began to think about Hogwarts or anything that reminded him of his past life, he would revert to Occluding. Thinking about his past life as a Death Eater, as a spy, and especially his life before both of those made him ill. It made him want to retch or propel his head against the wall. Master would get angry if he saw Severus actually do either of those things, so he did not do them.

Severus did not look up when Master came in. He simply checked to make sure nothing was going to burn straight away before kneeling and bowing. "Hello, Master." He said softly. He knew it used to bother him to say that, but he couldn't remember why – it was easy to say. And if he didn't, he would get a beating or worse.

"You may rise. Continue doing whatever it was you were doing." Master breezed through the kitchen and descended into the basement, likely going to check to make sure Severus had slept in the basement last night. Severus did not know how Master was able to tell if he had slept down there or not, but he did not have to worry about it. He slept down there and chained himself, just like Master instructed. He could not get punished for obeying, could he?

There had been that day last week where Master had began punishing Severus and would not stop. Severus still did not know what he did. He suspected that Master had had too much to drink, but generally when someone was _that_ drunk, they did not remember their actions afterwards, but Master continually acknowledged the incident. Master did like to punish Severus – maybe he had done it for fun? The thought made Severus shudder. It was more than a little frightening to think about that, that one could enjoy to hurt someone like that, especially someone who could do nothing to defend himself.

_You could defend yourself if you had a wand... or you could attack him the Muggle way. _His eyes widened when he realized what he just thought and began Occluding. He could not entertain the thought of hurting Master-

_Master. When did you start to think of him as 'Master'?_ Severus was not sure. He had thought of the man as 'Mering' for a fortnight, but after that... oh yes. After that was the night Master had made Severus constantly call him Master, over and over, for hours. If Master's intent was to make Severus call him that and begin to think of him as that, well, it had worked. Severus had not even been aware he was doing that. The amount of control Master had on him was frightening, but he tried not to think too hard on it. There was nothing he could do about it, after all.

"Be sure to make plenty." Master came up behind him. "We are heading out to Henderson's today, and I am going to need extra food in my stomach if I'm expected to..." he stopped and his eyes narrowed as he looked at Severus. "Remind me to tell you to comb your hair out before we go. I am not going to make as much if my slave is a complete wreck."

_Henderson's._ Today was the day. The day everything would change. After Severus was sold, he would never see Master again. The thought cheered Severus up slightly, though he knew it was probably wrong of him. But the idea of who would buy him? Now, that frightened him.

He tried to remain optimistic on the subject. He had worked as a Potions Master at Hogwarts for years – surely that would raise his price. Severus felt his insides twist as he remembered his years teaching. The words to describe how greatly he missed the dungeons, the bubbling of a Potion, Minerva's comforting advice, the student's smiles which he would always scowl at...

He blinked furiously. He would not _cry_. He told himself that the other night was the last. Master had pounded into him and it had _hurt –_ he still hurt. Master had noticed his tears and had laughed at him... he recommitted himself to the promise to never cry. Never again.

But with his knowledge of Potions, and his experience as a spy... that had to count as something. Perhaps someone wanted to order him around, to make Potions or perhaps do something that required planning, stealth, Occlumency, or something of the like. Or his abilities to defend himself or use the Dark Arts. He was not thrilled with the idea of someone wanting to use his knowledge of Dark Magic, but magic was only Dark if it was truly used for Dark purposes. That was why there were only three Unforgiveables – because those three curses could only be used for Dark means. They could never be good.

He still clung to the fact that he would _not_ be sold for pleasure. Master used him a lot now. He hated it as much as he did the first night with Medusa, but he no longer resisted. That tended to only get Master more aroused and more eager. That never did Severus any good. He was better off doing his best to please Master, and then getting rewarded by perhaps getting to go down to the basement early, or getting more food than usual. Sometimes, Master took the time to touch Severus' forehead as he used him, which Severus both loved and loathed. Somehow, the enslavement curse made Master's hand feel like velvet and was a very soothing and wonderful feeling, something one would lust after, but he loathed it because he could not control it. He could not stop himself from moaning with pleasure or nuzzling against Master's hand... he had tried not to, but it was impossible. The effect it had on him was worse than the book had said.

But Master only touched his head when he was being pleasured, and as Master also pointed out to Severus often, Severus looked nowhere near thirty-eight, and was not attractive no matter how old you thought he was. That was important when being sold for pleasure, sometimes. Sometimes people did not care. Severus hoped that everyone at the auction _did_ care. As much as he wanted to get away from Master, he did not want to be at someone's disposal, day and night, for that sole purpose. So perhaps his new master would not touch his head like that?

Severus shook the thoughts out of his head, Occluding his mind. He would not think about that.

He arranged the eggs and sausage neatly on a plate, pouring Master a mug of coffee before sitting that on the table and stepping into the living room, his head bowed. "Master, breakfast is ready." He announced, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He would not forget the time he had failed to make breakfast suitable, even with plenty of ingredients in resource, and Master had punished him by pushing him down the stairs and casting the Cruciatus. He had been lazy – he learned his lesson, though, and vowed to never let it happen again.

After Master sat down, Severus knelt at his side, his eyes to his knobby knees. He really was too thin – he was not certain if he had lost much weight since being at Master's. He hadn't lost a substantial amount, he knew. Master was adamant that Severus not look weak at Henderson's. But he had always been thin – scarily so. It was not that he did not enjoy food as much as the next person, but he had always been too busy studying or working to eat, and had spent so much time concentrating on a plan, on fooling the Dark Lord, or on his school work that he burnt off anything he consumed by using his mind.

In an odd way, that made Severus proud, he realized, as he delicately picked up a piece of a sausage Mering had thrown on the floor for him. He was a very smart person. Excruciatingly smart – he had managed to fool one of the darkest, one of the smartest Wizards in history, for years. Albus Dumbledore had frequently sought his counsel. And even Potter... he had attempted to teach Potter many things over the past few years. Not that one of them had gone over well, but that had had little to do with his _own_ intelligence.

Odd. He had known and interacted with three very famous Wizards on a regular basis. _Three_. For being as worthless as he was, he had gotten rather fortunate. Not that he had actually _enjoyed_ knowing the Dark Lord or Potter, but he had known them, which was more than most could say. It was enough to garner _some_ respect.

"Tomorrow is the auction. Today we're just going to get papers signed and other shit." Master explained, tossing more food on the floor. He rarely took the time to feed Severus out of his hand now, which was fine by Severus. Severus wouldn't dare say it out loud, but the floor was much cleaner than Master's grimy fingers.

"Yes, Master." Severus answered, picking up the food and putting it in his mouth before Master could find a reason to deny it to him. Master had done that several times in the past.

Master eyed Severus carefully. "You're to keep your mouth shut and only speak when required of you. No smart-arse answers, either."

Severus nodded, his eyes to his knees again. "Yes, Master." He didn't dare insult anyone at Henderson's. They were his best hope to get bought by good people. He hoped that someone would buy him and treat him relatively well – he no longer dared to hope that Kingsley Shacklebolt or any other member of the Order would come to the rescue, but if someone just fed him two or maybe even three times a day... perhaps gave him a blanket... he would be happy. He did not want to go to someone like Master, or worse.

Master returned to his food. "It's been a month and we've both survived." He chuckled. "For awhile there, I was convinced you were going to drive me potty."

_You're not the only one. _Severus did not know how to reply, but he could not _ignore_ Master. That would only warrant a beating. "Yes, Master."

"You were so convinced that you would 'win', that you would never get broken. And now look at you!" Master continued to chuckle as he did whenever he found something amusing. Severus had decided to pass his master's sense of humour twisted at best and no longer considered it.

"But then you realized, thanks to me, of course, that you were much better off shutting up and obeying." He smiled down at Severus. It was not a comforting one, but one that made Severus shrink back in fear. Master always smiled that smile before he used the Cruciatus.

But he did not pull out his wand. Instead, he began petting the top of Severus' head. "You're going to prove to them that you're a good slave, aren't you?" He said in a mock-caring voice.

Severus stared, stone-faced, down at the floor in front of him. Master. Was. Petting. His. Head. It took every bit of resistance Severus had not to shudder away as the man stroked his fingers through Severus' greasy hair, as if Severus were a common dog. Severus knew that in the eyes of the world now, he was no better than a dog, but he still did not appreciate the sentiment. He knew Master was just trying to taunt him, so he Occluded and tried not to think too hard on what Master was saying.

Master hand-fed him a bit of sausage, which Severus silently choked down. He knew better than to turn down food – he needed it to keep up his strength, and if he denied it... he could only imagine how Master would react, but however he did, it would not bode well for Severus.

"The people at Henderson's are going to look through some papers, and probably ask you a few questions, which you will answer truthfully – understand?" At those words, he gripped Severus' jaw with a firm grip and forced him to look into his steel eyes.

Severus nodded, his throat tightening. "Yes, Master." He croaked.

"At some point, you'll undergo an examination." Master let go of his tight grip and returned to his food. "If they ask about your scars, they are all from sword fights, all right? Every single one of them."

Severus bit his lip. Did that include his most recent ones? He was not overly sure how his back looked, but from what he could see of it, it was mostly torn and scarred one hundred times over from the past month. He knew better than to ask, though; if Master said to say it was from swordplay, they would be from swordplay.

"I've no problem with you conversing with other slaves, should we come across them." Master paused, his fork in mid-air. "But only in private. And there will be no planning to rebel. Quiet conversation, and that is it, you understand? Not in anyone's presence but another slave's. Should I hear different..." He let his voice wane, but Severus knew the threat stood firm.

"In the presence of anyone else, you are to bow your head and stay quiet, unless told otherwise." Master continued, taking a bite of his food. "I realize you have not had the opportunity my other slaves have had to experience many social situations. That is on purpose – I had never trained a Death Eater, and was not about to take on more than I could chew."

_My behaviour was hardly one of a Death Eater. If you take on another one, you're in for a surprise. _Severus had no doubts that if Master began to train more Death Eaters, he would wind up regretting it. He couldn't say he felt too bad for him.

"Yes, Master. I understand." He leaned forward to gently pry the food from Master's fingers with his teeth, but Master snatched his hand away, food in hand.

"During the actual auction, you will resist no one." Master put the food in his mouth. Occasionally he pretended to offer the food to Severus to just snatch it away. Severus used to not see the point in that – it only made Master seem barbaric, eating with his hands, but he was not about to argue with Master's table manners. "It does not matter that I am likely not going to be in sight – the people at Henderson's are above you and you _will_ respect them. You will bow your head, confirm anything that needs confirmed, and allow yourself to be led anywhere. If anything goes amiss, I will hear about it and you _will_ be punished, if not by me, than by the people at Henderson's. And don't think that they will be gentle about it. Compared to them, the way I punish you is nothing."

"Yes, Master." Severus affirmed solemnly, taking the food offered to him, but unable to swallow. He could not forget that curse that made him feel like he was in a pit of sharp, broken glass. He had endured it once and, if he ever had the chance, would dispose of the memory through use of a Penseive or something similar. He would still be able to remember it, of course, but it would be vague.

Master abruptly scooted his chair backwards, running over Severus' fingers. Through the sharp pain, Severus jumped to his feet and bowed his head – he was to be the last one to sit and the first one to stand at all times.

He resisted the urge to tuck his pinched fingers into his mouth – Master would see that as a sign of weakness and be sure to taunt him with it later on, somehow. He had always hated to show signs of weakness, and though he had been of late- no. He would not think about that. It only made him upset. He forced himself to focus on clearing his mind, on practising Occlumency. He was eternally grateful that the ability came so natural to him. If he had to endure actually thinking the thoughts he wanted to think, or letting Master's words get to him, he would have found a way to kill himself the first week.

Oh, but he couldn't have. That would be a weakness. Sometimes he forgot that.

**Coming soon in _Unwell_...  
Chapter Thirteen: _Preparation_**

A/N: _Thanks so much for your reviews, everyone! It is wonderful in such a strange way to see everyone so intrigued in the story! I know every author says it, but I really, really do mean it. Is it possible to say "thank you" too much? Even though this story is not as popular as others, it still has __a loyal following, for which I'm grateful to you all. You're all absolutely amazing and wonderful!_


	13. Preparation

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

**I saw a funny disclaimer the other day that said "I don't own most of these characters, but I wish JK Rowling had taken better care of some of them". My first thought was to steal it for the disclaimer of this chapter, but then I realized that A), stealing a disclaimer goes against the purpose of disclaimers, and B), I'm taking worse care of JKR's characters than she ever did.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen  
"Preparation"**

* * *

After letting Severus attempt on disentangling his hair for a solid quarter an hour, Master banished the knots away and eyed Severus. "Decent enough, I suppose." He pulled Severus close to him by the wrist – it took everything Severus had not to recoil. He couldn't stand it when people touched him now – whenever people touched him, they hurt him. And the amount of fear he had of getting close to Master... whenever he got as close as he was now, Master either had a sort of sexual activity in mind, or a punishment.

"Say 'goodbye' to your safe haven." Master chuckled, his foul breath making Severus' nostrils flair involuntarily. "Time to discover what a picnic you've been living this past month."

Severus felt the familiar sensation of side-along Apparation as Master's grip tightened around his wrist. And then they disappeared, gone from the place that held Severus prisoner for one month.

* * *

Going places had never been one of Severus' favourite things. He had always preferred the quiet company of bubbling cauldrons or a close friend to loud strangers. He never dreaded trips into Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, etc – it was just something he did not wish to do every day.

However, his feelings about going in public were amplified an untold amount after being on the receiving end of the enslavement curse. With the tattoo the Ministry for Magic had placed on his forehead, he got a lot of stares. People in Hogsmeade, where he had made several trips to with Master, knew all about the punishment being invoked on Death Eaters. He often got dirty looks and spat at by people who had lost someone in the War – he could do nothing but bow his head and ignore their insults, or Master would punish him.

Even worse, some people looked on with pity. It was one thing to be insulted – Severus could pass that off on ignorance, but pitied? Pity was something he hated – he knew he looked deplorable, that his situation was lamentable, but that did not mean that he was to be _pitied_.

He found himself hating trips into Hogsmeade with Master as much as he hated being at Master's house. At Master's house, he was surrounded by walls that had seen a lot of torture of not only himself, but other slaves as well. He spent every moment dreading Master's intentions – would Master make him do some horrible task? Would Master order him to grant him sexual favours? Or would Master threaten him with punishments? In Hogsmeade though, he was at the mercy of the civilians, who often didn't have mercy or had too much.

They Apparated outside a large old warehouse. People were milling about left and right. It was quite easy to guess who was a slave and who wasn't – the slaves walked behind their owners, head bowed. Their faces were long, in attempt to look expressionless. The other people, on the other hand, walked, tall and purposefully. As if they knew where they were going, what they were to be doing... some seemed happy, some seemed frustrated...

Severus bowed his head, following Master as he trekked to a small building a short distance away from the old warehouse.

_This is Henderson's Auction, _he took in his surroundings silently, his eyes darting about, though he held his head still. He had been a spy for many years – too many years to simply drop his instincts altogether. Even though he was not going to escape, he wanted to understand the people around him. What they were thinking, what they were doing... and he could know it all, just by observing body language, by poking around in their minds a bit. Eye contact was necessary for Legilimency, and Master had forbade him early on to have eye contact with anyone above him unless instructed otherwise, but he could always observe how they moved, how often they blinked, even. Such subtle details gave away much information.

He grimaced as he stepped on a sharp rock that pierced his foot. His feet were still tender, though they were starting to become less so. His heels had become harder, being able to withstand walking barefoot outside better than before. But that was not saying much, as Severus had never spent a day barefoot in his life prior to having the enslavement curse put on him.

_Perhaps my new master will permit me to wear shoes, _he wondered as he stepped inside the cool building, three paces behind Master. The rush of cool air hit him and he immediately had to resist the urge to shiver, though he got goosebumps in response to the sudden cold. He had spent years dressing in layers, whether in robes, Muggle clothing, or teaching wear. To be as unclothed as he was, the cloth around his waist preserving his dignity, was, in short, humiliating by itself, not to mention in front of all the wizards, witches, and slaves that had milled around outside. Merlin, most of the slaves he had seen had had more on than he did!

Inside the small building was a simple office, where a young witch sat behind a desk. She wore big spectacles over her preoccupied eyes. Her russet hair was pulled up in a proper bun. She wore much too much make-up, and simple black office robes. "Ah, Mr. Mering, it is good to see you again." She reached across her desk and shook hands with Master.

"Another year." Master had a smile on his face as he shook his head. "My thirty-third year. One hundred and seven slaves, all sold here at Henderson's." He nodded towards Severus. "That one will be one hundred and eight."

_One hundred and seven? Master has sold one hundred and seven slaves here at Henderson's alone? _The thought made Severus ill. That meant Master had owned, at some point or another, at least one hundred and seven slaves. All sold at Henderson's, not to mention other auctions. And what about the slaves he kept for a few days, a few weeks, to train and return to their owners?

The woman eyed the Dark Mark on Severus' pale skin and her blue eyes widened. "You've got a Death Eater, Mr. Mering!" She exclaimed with shock, recoiling with horror at the sight of the ugly snake and skull sign.

_Not a Death Eater. A spy. Though I was a Death Eater... I suppose I am a Death Eater. _Severus had come to understand that he was being punished not for the years he spied on the Dark Lord, but for the time he did not. The mere amount of months he did not, that he was truly loyal.

A lifetime of enslavement seemed like a harsh punishment. Severus was still trying to decipher whether he thought he deserved it or not. He had done a lot of wrong things in his past, as Master always reminded him. He was different than everyone else, and not safe in freedom, for he could harm anyone with a few uttered words, even without a wand. But was that worth a lifetime of enslavement? He was not quite sure.

"Yes, I do." Mr. Mering stated, grabbing Severus' arm tightly and pulling him closer to the desk so that the woman could get a better look. Severus kept his eyes to the floor, willing himself to keep the colour out of his cheeks. This was a young woman, no older than twenty! That she was looking over him, in his nearly naked state as she was was purely-

"Professor Snape!" She gasped.

At those words, Severus' eyes darted up to get a better look at her. He had not been called "Professor" in a month, and when she had called him that, looked up as a natural reflex.

This woman... she had been one of his students, apparently. He would never be able to remember all of his students' names and faces – with all the concentration he had used on trying to remember as he licked Master's shoes, crawled behind Master, washed dishes, and bowed, he could never remember all their names.

"Do you remember me?" She dropped back into the swivelling office chair, hand on her heart, eyes wide, obviously surprised to see him.

Severus glanced at Master, who nodded.

_She would have been at school in 1991... you spent a lot of time reading the roster for that year... Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff? She was not a Slytherin, I would have remembered. Nor was she a... oh, but a Ravenclaw! She was John's older sister, sorted into Ravenclaw three years before he came to Hogwarts._

"Larson." He spoke, rearranging his face in the closest he could get to a sneer without Master slapping him. He kept his head slightly bowed as he spoke. "Ravenclaw, class of 1995. Got a 'T' in your O.W.L's for Potions. I remember... you had a tendency to use fragmented sentences in essays, as well as spill your cosmetics on your homework prior to turning it in." He had always hated her for that – had it never occurred to hear to use a simple spell to get the stain off her parchment?

She glared at him before turning to Master. "You could not school his mouth, could you, Mr. Mering?" She asked in a dry tone as she pulled out a form and began filling in the blanks with her quill.

Master just chuckled. "I told you last year when you first came to work here – you can't beat them to death. Corpses don't sell. He'll sell well, and likely lose his mouth in a few more months anyhow."

Severus watched intently as she filled in the blanks of the parchment. She appeared to know what she was doing as she filled in Master's name, his own name, Master's home address (which he discovered, by reading upside down, was in Surrey), and more.

"How old is he? When is his birth date?" She directed towards Master.

"Ask him the questions, by all means." Master nodded towards Severus.

"Snape?" She asked, eyebrow raised expectantly, hatred in every feature of her face.

"Thirty-eight." He said quietly. He had been one of Hogwarts' youngest Potions Masters in history when he had gotten the job in 1981, merely twenty-one. "January 9th, 1960."

"Ancestry?"

"I am a half-blood." He stated.

She scoffed as she wrote down his answer. "Kind of ironic for a Death Eater to be a half-blood."

Severus snarled. He was _proud_ of his heritage. As much as he hated his father, he was not ashamed at all to be a half-blood. "I'll have you know that the Dark Lord himself was a-"

He stopped short, as Master began holding his wand to Severus' hand, invoking the sharp pain on his tattooed skull. Even if Master did not do that, if Severus directly disobeyed him, the tattoo would start to prickle and eventually burn. But the wand to the tattoo always brought the pain full-strength instantaneously.

As she asked the next question, Master took his wand away from Severus' forehead, and Severus was able to answer her next few questions. Whether they were on the form or not, they were highly personal questions that Severus hated to answer – he was a private person by nature – and was exceedingly relieved when Master turned and sat down in one of the chairs that were arranged waiting-room style around the desk. Severus knelt down on Master's right side, growing more chilly by the moment. He wished he could rub his arms to warm himself, but he couldn't. To do so would be a sign of weakness that he still was not ready to show, and also, and perhaps more importantly, Master would not like it.

Not showing signs of weakness just seemed pointless now. He was, whether he liked it or not, at everyone's disposal. Acting proud or dignified did little for him except earn him more punishment. But he still could not bring himself to do some things. Calling Master 'Master', he could do. Obeying his every word... well, he had no choice, but he did still have a choice over some of his actions. He could _choose_ whether to attempt to warm himself or not.

"So, she's a student of yours, eh?" Master spoke, his cruel eyes staring at him, his mouth formed in an amused smile.

Severus nodded. "Yes, Master." _Yes Master, mock me right in front of her. Of course you want to take away any pride I might have in front of a former student._

Master chuckled. "An odd turn of events, don't you think? Now think about it – if nearly any student you have ever taught were to come up to you now and tell you to roll over like a dog, you would have to do it."

The image made Severus' stomach plummet. "Yes, Master." He said quietly. Before he lost his nerve, he spoke again. "However, the obedience to every wizard and witch is your order. Perhaps my new master will think differently." That was one hope Severus had clung to – when the man had been reading the rules and laws, before the enslavement curse had been cast, he had said _"You must do anything and everything any wizard tells you to do, unless specifically told not to by your current owner". _Did that mean, that though his current Master insisted his obey everyone above him lest it contradict another one of his orders, his new Master might be more firm and have limits on who he was to obey? Severus hoped so. It was not a pleasant thought, that he could be ordered by his former students. Most hated him – they would surely take advantage of the opportunity.

Master stared at Severus. "Yes, that's true." He said slowly. "But do you really think that he or she will _care_ who you obey? So long as you perform well for them and do not go making a spectacle of yourself, I highly doubt they will care if you have to obey someone else's orders along the way."

_Thank you, Master. Take away one of my last hopes, why don't you?_ "Yes, Master." Severus sighed, leaning back further on his heels. It was an uncomfortable position to be in, to be kneeling like that. Severus had done so for hours at a time before, and had had sore knees and legs to show for it. He wished Master would permit him to sit in a different position, but Severus was not about to ask, for he knew Master would not budge. He was kneeling to show his status and respect for his Master.

Respect. Did he have respect for Master? He supposed he did. He had a very high respect for someone who could at any moment perform the Cruciatus on him and laugh as he writhed in pain, in the same way one had respect for a dragon, that could easily kill you in an instant. You moved cautiously, carefully, around the dragon, and did nothing to provoke it. In the same way, that was the type of respect Severus had for Master. Though he would be lying if he said he was not afraid of the man.

But he was not afraid for the reasons one might think. He was not afraid of Master because of the number of beatings earned, the various types of cruel and unusual punishment, the orders that normally surrounded them. No, he was afraid of Master's attitude, of Master's temperament. Of how Master chuckled when Severus moaned, or laughed hysterically when he screamed. Of how Master could kick an already weak and bleeding Severus in the stomach and think nothing of it, of how Master could order Severus into his bed without once thinking about how Severus might feel about it. That was what scared Severus. Master did not see him as a human being, but as a slave. Similar to the way many thought of House-Elves... but that was different. House-Elves were not humans. They were a breed all of their own. They looked different than humans, acted different than humans, had different magical abilities than most wizards... perhaps they did not deserve to be treated as badly as they often were.

Severus understood that his legal status had changed. It had gone from "wizard" to "slave" in moments. He was classified as one, in the same way Lupin was a classified a werewolf or a House-Elf a House-Elf. That said, he was a different breed than wizards now... but he still was one. He still had human blood, magical blood, flowing through his veins. His ancestry had not changed, nor had his past experiences and circumstances... it was a hard thing to comprehend.

A harsh buzz sounded in the room. The Larson girl looked up from her desk and nodded at Master. "You can go in now, Mr. Mering."

Severus leaped to his feet and bowed his head, backing away to give Master plenty of space. It was an endless game of trying to stand before Master could. It was a strict order, but not easily done.

Master took a copy of the filled out form from Larson and at Master's nod, Severus followed him down a brightly lit hall.

Severus' dirty feet slid on the hard tiled floor. Severus watched his feet take each step.

Two men walked past them – one was evidentially the other's slave. He was dressed in off-white patched robes and though clean, his body battered. He gave Severus a curious look as they walked past – Severus pretended not to see it. He hated the looks he got – he understood that the Dark Mark was something most people found horrifyingly intriguing, free or not. He wished he had something to cover it – anything. The skull and snake taunted him each day, of who he he was and how he had become it. If not for that one mistake, he would be a free man.

Master stepped inside a small room, where a woman stood waiting.

"Mr. Mering!" She exclaimed, shaking his hand. "I thought you would be coming in today!" She glanced over at Severus. "Just one? When I heard how they were punishing select Death Eaters, I assumed you would be training them all."

Master shook his head. "The Ministry did not allow people to own more than one. Didn't want us biting off more than we could chew." He handed the copy of the form to the woman, who was dressed in pale blue robes, a medical symbol woven onto them. She was a doctor, no doubt. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties. He black hair was tightly pulled back and her skin the colour of coffee with just a touch of milk.

The woman examined the form with pursed lips, nodding and muttering to herself. "He doesn't look thirty-eight." She commented, eyeing Severus' face.

No, he didn't. But one who had had the stresses of his life would not look his age, would he? He was lucky his heart hadn't stopped beating due to the stress years ago. His appearance hardly mattered to him, anyhow.

Mering shrugged. "He is."

She just nodded. "Sit down, Mr. Mering. This should only take a few moments." She directed her attention at Severus. "Stand up against the wall."

"Yes miss." He said softly, standing up against the pure white wall where she directed. Her eyes were watching his every move carefully – it made him feel like he was under one of the magnifying glasses he kept in his office at Hogwarts.

"Stand up straight." She ordered. "Head back."

Biting his lip, he did so. Master always said for him to bow his head, but if she said otherwise in Master's presence and Master didn't argue... he stared at the wall across from him, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone.

He made a jolted movement as she placed her cold hands on his right shoulder.

She gave him a reproachful look. "Stay still." She warned him.

He shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth as she ran her hands down his arm, feeling the muscles, examining the scars. She picked up his arm and began flexing his wrist and moving it in a circular motion. "Extend your fingers." She ordered.

His long slender fingers came unclenched and she began examining them one by one before letting go of his arm and repeating the process on his other arm.

"Have you ever had any health problems prior to coming here?" She asked him, lightly pinching some of the skin in his arm as she worked her way down his arm.

_Health problems? Colds, the flu, normal childhood diseases... _"Nothing substantial, miss." He said, trying not to wince as she turned his head to the left and began feeling around his neck.

"Have you ever broken any bones?"

"Not intentionally." He returned, keeping his tone level. It was everything he could do to not throw her across the room. She was small – he could easily. And that was not even counting on accidental magic, which he was trying so hard to reign in. After literally shocking Medusa, and doing it yet again to Master the first time he tried to take him, he knew that if he didn't keep his defences down, the magic in his body would try to take over, which would only earn him punishment.

_Deep breaths, calm down, do not hurt anyone, do not take out any lights... _was what he always told himself when he felt like he was going to do something of the sort accidentally. He was no Albus Dumbledore, or Harry Potter, for that matter, but he was a powerful wizard. Not using magic regularly, and then having to undergo various types of torture without complaint were not good mixes for him.

She scoffed. "What bones have been broken?" She began shifting his jaw.

_Too many to count. _His father had broken Severus' arm when Severus was five, but Severus had healed it on his own through accidental magic. His father had broken Severus' leg when Severus was twelve, but Severus' mother had healed that. No thanks to James Potter and his gang, he had had his nose broken twice, jaw broken once more, a few collarbone injuries, and a sprained wrist... and that was before he began to service the Dark Lord, who, like Master, seemed to have a sadistic pleasure in hurting people.

He sighed reluctantly. "My left arm, my left leg, my nose, jaw, collarbone, a few ribs, and my head." And those were only the ones he could specifically recall. Madame Pomfrey had likely not told him everything every time, wanting to spare him the frustration and humiliation that went along with the company of James Potter and the Dark Lord.

"Dare I ask how you received those injuries?" She began feeling his chest, making the goosebumps return, his nipples harden. The only person to ever touch him this much prior to the Medusa incident was Madame Pomfrey. Since that happened two weeks ago, he had come to decide that any attention his body was to receive was always going to be in the negative nature for him. Always.

"Quidditch." He lied. He could count the games of Quidditch he had played (though not refereed) on two hands. He was hardly going to inform the woman, especially in front of Master, that he had spent his life being punished in one way or another. He had a feeling Master would find that encouragingly hysterical for himself, but it would be discouragingly horrifying for Severus.

"And the amount of scars you have are from Quidditch as well?" She asked, waving one of the many wands she had sitting on a counter. Severus' clothes, what little he had, promptly disappeared.

Severus closed his eyes even tighter than he had before. He would not lash out, nor would he react to the fact that he was once again unclothed. If being unclothed in front of Master was not bad enough, being unclothed in front of a woman was torture. If he made any attempt to preserve his dignity, Master would only laugh and probably punish him. It would only be more humiliating than it already was.

"That, and from the duration I spent training with a sword." He kept with the lie Master had told him to tell the first night. Not all of them were from that – Severus had been very good with his blade and no longer got nicked with it after few lessons – but whatever Master wanted, Master got.

"You will be able to remove the scars I've inflicted on him this past month, I presume." Master spoke up as she continued her examination.

"I can see." She said shortly.

Severus did his best to Occlude as she continued to examine him, whilst trying to pay attention to the conversation. He needed to know everything Master had planned, and needed to be aware if he was asked a question. But if he spent too much time dwelling on his examination, he very well might do something he'd regret.

But there was no further conversation. The silence was awkward for Severus as it continued to prevail, only interrupted by commands from the woman, who eventually began to scan his eyes, ears, nose, mouth, chest, groin, and every other inch of his body with several different wands. He wanted more than ever to be anywhere – anywhere – but there.

He turned around as she instructed and pressed his nose hard against the wall. To have his back turned was always awfully horrible to endure – he would rather have his eyes open and see ones intentions than to be blind to them. He felt an cold sensation run down his body, so cold, it stung. And yet he did not react. He couldn't. He would now allow himself to do that.

"You may turn around." She said suddenly, as the cold sensation disappeared. With another flick of her wand, his cloth was back in place. She turned her attention back to Master.

"Physically, he is no no immediate danger, but he is underweight and undernourished." She stated, writing on the form.

Master nodded. "Not enough to affect his price any, though?"

She shook her head. "Not by much, if at all, no. The scars I can heal are healed. The other ones will take more intense medical procedures that I don't offer for slave auctions."

"Of course." Master said. "The scars are the least of my worries, appearance-wise."

"On that note, I have cast several cleansing spells on him, but the only thing that is going to fix the nose are again, medical procedures that I do not offer to slaves unless privately paid for by their owner." She looked up from the form. "That is normally done by brothels. They will purchase a slave for a cheap price, and pay to have their problems fixed. In his case, it would likely be his nose, and perhaps a few charms on his hair."

_Insult my appearance as if I am not in the room._

"Of course, slight tanning of the skin is usually done, but the pale look is in now, I believe, so that would be a plus, in his case, if you intend on selling him to a brothel."

_Please, no, Master. I will do anything but work somewhere like that. I cannot. _Severus would beg beyond all reasoning to not be sold to a brothel. Severus was fairly certain he could not control where he was sold, and that he would have to obey his new owners in the same way he did Master, but... he just could not. Medusa the one time, and then Master, was bad enough, but no one else. Even though he did not tie the emotions he felt during sexual activity with anyone in particular – he had no pleasant experiences to compare them to – they made him miserable.

"I honestly have no care in the world where my slaves are sold." Master said. "As long as they sell for a high price, that is. I will normally buy them back myself if they are not going for high enough. Of course, with all the rules surrounding owning a Death Eater, I shouldn't be surprised if a specific type of crowd shows up to buy. How many Death Eaters have you seen so far?"

She shook her head. "None yet, but it is not even lunch yet. I expect we'll see five-to-ten though. There is not supposed to be a lot – the Ministry insists that most trainers keep them longer than a month."

Master just nodded, taking a revised form that the woman magically copied onto another another piece of parchment. "I will see you next year, then." He began walking out of the room. Severus pulled himself away from the wall, bowed his head, and followed him, hoping that the worst was over, that he could go back to Master's until tomorrow, where he would be sold for the first time in his life.

Little did he know that yes, tomorrow would be the first time, but it would not be the last.

**Coming soon in **_**Unwell**_**...  
Chapter Fourteen: **_**Even the Mighty Fall**_


	14. Even the Mighty Fall

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen  
"Even the Mighty Fall"**

* * *

They Apparated outside a warehouse. For it being merely October, it was cold. The weather was often like that in England in October. George found himself grateful for the weather - it was not as cold as it normally was in Scotland that time of year, which is where he had spent a majority of his Octobers in recent years. However, it was drizzling rain, which made George wish he had brought a cap with ear flaps. Not that he had a right ear to get cold...

"This is Henderson's, huh?" He turned to the elder Weasley.

Arthur Weasley was forty-eight years old. He stood tall, almost as tall as his lanky son. He had burnt red hair, not fiery red like George's. He was neither thin nor overweight. He had once been as thin as his sons, but he had filled out as he grew older.

His expression was grim as he looked around his surroundings. "I imagine so. We have done plenty of research on it of late, but I've never seen any pictures. The slaves are supposedly kept in a large warehouse of sorts-"

"There." George pointed with his wand, which held a ball of light at the end. It was two in the morning, and dark.

Arthur nodded. "Silent now, George. Remember to _Stupefy_ anyone that sees you. Show no mercy. If they know who we are and what our intent is..." His expression turned even grimmer.

"Right." George nodded. "We're going in, find Snape, figure out exactly where to go from there, and leave for the night."

George was known for his humour. He was renowned for it, really, becoming famous in all of Great Britain for his joke shop, which he had founded with his twin brother, Fred. However, the wear and tear of the War caught up with him after it ended. After Fred dying, George found himself in a depressed recluse for a few short weeks, before deciding that Fred would have beat the living daylights out of him for moping. He moved on, continued with the joke shop, and was pretty much his old self. He now understood though, as he had matured in the last few months, that there was a time and a place for joking around, and serious rescue missions were not it. Not to say that he didn't secretly enjoy being on a secret rescue mission - it made him feel like one of those characters in a comic book. He could almost hear spy music following him as he darted around corners, tumbled to avoid hexes-

"George?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Concentrate."

"Of course."

They quietly began to head for the warehouse. They couldn't apply disillusionment charms on themselves - they needed to be seen once they found Snape, but by Snape only. That would involve plenty of Stupefying and Obliviating, but those were simple hexes and charms that the two men could handle. They had fought in the very crux of the War, the last Battle - they could most definitely handle a few guards and slave owners.

"_Stupefy_!" Arthur hissed at a shadowy figure walking outside the warehouse.

The figure stopped and immediately fell to the ground.

"Good one, Dad." George smiled broadly, hurrying over to the figure and giving it a gentle nudge with his foot. "He's out cold. He won't be up for hours, I reckon."

"Hush, George." Arthur rolled his eyes, but his grin was as wide as his son's.

Rounding a corner into the warehouse, they quickly Stupefied the three guards that stood in there, dodging a few body-bind and petrifying curses as they were spotted.

"All right, George. You go into one of the rooms they were guarding and see if you can't find Severus. _Stupefy_ and _Obliviate_ anyone else if you have to, but don't hurt anyone. I'll be in one of those other rooms." The warehouse was separated into one large room and three small ones that appeared to be locked the Muggle way, with padlocks, but the Weasleys were not stupid. They knew full well that they also had Wizarding locking charms on them, and possibly even alarm systems - Wizarding ones, of course.

George made his way over to the door on the far right, whilst Arthur made his way to the door on the far left. Whoever got finished looking for Snape first could search the middle room.

George waved his wand and muttered a simple _Alohamora_. That would take care of the Muggle locking charms - it did, in fact, as they fell open. The doorknob uttered a series of clicks as well.

Muttering another spell, created by Albus Dumbledore himself, any break-in device or charm became deactivated. Another cancelled nearly all Wizarding locks and charms, and yet another cancelled the rest.

George pulled a glove out from his pocket and slipped it on his right hand, transferring his wand to his left hand. He was right-handed. His wand arm was his right one

(as was the case for all of the Weasleys, except for Percy... but what could one really say about Percy? He had always been a little bit off his rocker)

as well, but he had learned to be able to duel well with both. It was a skill they learned in Dumbledore's Army, which George had to admit, he sorely missed. So what if they had all (or mostly) left school? Why couldn't they have some sort of duelling club? He supposed it would be too soon to ask anything of the sort of Harry though, who he loved like a little brother...

George shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it. He had always had attention problems, his mind easily wandering from one thing to the next, even in important life-or-death situations, such as pulling evil Potions professors out of certain doom.

He couldn't help but grin to himself. Snape really owed him now - not only had Snape hexed George's ear off, rendering him holey for the rest of his life, but here George was saving Snape's arse? Yes, that sounded like life-debt material.

He peered through the frosted window of the door. He couldn't really see much due to the texture of the window but he could make out huddled shapes. People were in there, just as Kingsley said they would be.

The slaves at Henderson's were brought in the day before the auction to be examined and such, and kept overnight, for the auction started really early in the morning, at six o'clock. It apparently put the original owners at ease, so they would not have to worry about rushing to the auction on time. They could just get there afterwards, gather up their pay check and leave.

The thought made George's stomach turn. He had always wanted a slave for the Weasley family, simply because his mum worked hard and deserved a little bit of rest and relaxation, but in his mind, it had always been some sort of arranged deal. In his mind, the slave wasn't necessarily forced, but part of the family. And that meant de-gnoming the garden, polishing the floors, moving heavy furniture, and other chores that Mrs. Weasley hated to do.

He had learned a lot about slavery in the past month. When he had learned about Death Eaters turning into slaves, first he felt a little smug. That was what the Death Eaters had wanted, wasn't it? To serve someone? They had been slaves to You-Know-Who, now it was time to be slaves to You-Know-Who's victims. But he hadn't counted on Snape being one of those Death Eaters. Yeah, Snape had been an outright bastard, but slavery? That was a bit extreme. The man already had it bad enough, what with having a big nose and greasy hair. Surely _that_ was punishment enough!

_Snap out of it. Rescue time. _Taking a deep breath, George gripped the doorknob. The glove was to avoid fingerprints. Apparently in the Muggle world, finding out who the criminals were by looking at fingerprints were common. It was not such a common practice in the Wizarding world, but the Order had decided not to take any chances.

Well, some of the Order, anyhow. Not all members of the Order believed that Snape was being unfairly charged. Two years of being a true Death Eater resulting in a lifetime of slavery? A bit unfair. George fully understood that Snape, being a Death Eater, had to do some things that were... unpleasant, such as hexing someone's ear off. But he had never killed anyone or anything - apparently there was some sort of Potion that could only be brewed by someone who had never murdered another, and Snape had been forbidden from You-Know-Who to murder anyone in cold blood, just in case. No doubt that Snape had used some clever manipulation to do that... the man apparently was not all bad. George still hated the man for being a downright evil person towards all Gryffindors in school, but since he had been so darn helpful during the War behind everyone's backs... well, he deserved to be helped.

He eased open the door and cautiously peered inside. The room was pretty small, and dark. The only light came from the light at the tip of George's wand. He realized with horror that everyone in the room was shackled to the wall and, by being in that position, sprawled out on the floor, their feet clamped together by a hamper. They were literally hanging from hip-level... the idea of being in that position brought bile to George's throat.

He began passing over each person's face with his wand, searching for his former professor's familiar features. Pale face, big nose, black glittering eyes, greasy hair, all complete with a glowering sneer.

Some of the people were asleep, others just gazed at him with a lifeless gaze. Alive, conscious of the fact that there was a twenty-year-old man peering at them, but not caring. It was like they were on some heavy Potion they were waking up from.

"Weasley?" He heard a hoarse voice whisper behind him. Wand brandished in the air, he whirled around at the voice. It came from a figure chained to the wall, that, to George's horror, he realized was his evil Potions professor.

Only evil Potions professor he appeared to be no longer. The man dangling by his arms, lying halfway on the floor, gave little if any resemblance to the intimidating man George remembered.

Severus Snape, to George, had always been tall (even when George was just his height), brooding, manipulative, sneering, hateful, glowering, snide... he had the presence to make a roomful of people shut up just by walking in it - one glare from him could make you regret you ever spoke. The Potions professor had never been a good looking man by far - he had been one of the ugliest George had ever seen, until he had seen You-Know-Who and his snake nose, of course, but the man on the floor made what Snape had looked like before like Prince Charming.

His face, if it could have been called "pale" before, was positively white, the colour of brand new sheets. His black hair laid over his face in a greasy mess, in further disarray than it was when George had went to school. It had been greasy in those years, but never a disaster zone. His whole body in general looked too thin - George had never seen the man wear anything but billowing black robes, but surely he had never been that thin. The Dark Mark stood out boldly on the man's limp arms as he hung from the wall. George tried to keep his eyes off it and his eyes on the professor's face.

"Yeah." He said quietly, coming nearer to the man and kneeling down so that they could be on eye level. "Remember me, George Weasley? Your least favourite student? Well, aside from Fred, that is. You always wrote T's on our papers, but we found out later that you were really giving us O's and E's. Sneaky Slytherin." He stopped rambling as the professor's eyes lifted to meet George's. They, like the other people in the room, were kind of dead looking. Lifeless. There was little emotion in them.

To George's surprise though, a chuckle escaped Snape. A dry, almost angry sounding chuckle. "Now you're hallucinating. Magnificent. Add that to your list of troubles, right on top of talking to yourself, why don't you?"

George stared at the scowl on the man's face. Not an angry scowl like George had had aimed at him countless times, but a sad one. One of someone who was in despair. Just looking at it on the man's gaunt features made George shudder.

"Right." George said, standing up. "I'll be right back, Professor. I've just got to go get my dad."

Without another look at the man, George hurried out of the room and into the middle room, where he saw his dad looking at various people's faces, trying to find Snape, much in the way that George had been.

"Dad, I found him." George said.

Arthur looked up, his wand lighting up his face.

"You did?" He asked, hurrying out of the room and beginning to restore the locks and charms on the door, to make it appear as if there had been no intrusion.

"Yeah. He's alive." That was blatantly obvious, of course. George would not have found him in that room had he not been alive. "But he thinks I'm an hallucination or something."

Arthur looked at George in alarm. "He does? What makes you say that?"

"Well, he was talking to himself... he just said so." George tried as he followed his dad into the room that held Snape.

"Severus." Arthur said, going over the the figure George pointed out and kneeling in front of him. "Severus, can you hear me?"

"Salazar save me, if I am going to have hallucinations, at least let them be of people other than Weasleys." Snape muttered under his breath, so that George could hardly hear him.

"Get him some water, George." Arthur said. At his son's hesitation, he snapped. "Now!"

George deftly reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of string. Transfiguring that into a glass, he expertly let water pour out of the tip of his wand into the glass. He wordlessly passed it to his dad, who lifted the cup to Snape's thin dry lips.

"Drink it, Severus." Arthur urged Snape, who, with a weary look at Arthur through the curtain of greasy hair, began swallowing as the cup as tipped backwards.

Arthur banished the now empty cup and lifted the hair up and away from Snape's face without hesitation. George would have shuddered if he had had to touch the greasy hair. But Arthur didn't shudder. Snape flinched violently though.

"It's all right, Severus. We're here, it's all right." Arthur's voice was not one George had expected to come out of his father's mouth. It was his father's "comfort voice", one he was no stranger to. He had heard his dad use than tone of voice to comfort his mum when her sister died, to comfort Bill when Bill was nine and his first girlfriend left him, to comfort Charlie when he had practically ripped off his own arm in the summer of Charlie's fifth year, to comfort Percy when Percy got an 'E' in Transfiguration, to comfort George when Fred died, to comfort Fred when Fred had nightmares, to comfort Ron when he had nightmares about George and Fred, to comfort Ginny over the guilt she felt of opening the Chamber of Secrets... no, George fully knew his dad's "comfort voice", but he had never expected to hear it used on Snape. Not at all this past month, when a plan had been formulated for George and his dad to sneak into wherever to help Snape had George expected Snape to need or want any comforting. But his dad seemed to think he did.

_This is not a little mission like at school, _he realised. _This is not a late-night break into Honeydukes. This is serious, a life-or-death situation._

Arthur's attention was fully on Snape, who looked at Arthur with wide fear in his eyes. "You remember me, Arthur Weasley? Severus, can you hear me?"

There was a long silence as Snape's eyes began to narrow, a scowl soon coming over his face. "That is just cruel, something you will take as a compliment, I am sure. Using Polyjuice Potion to morph into someone that you think I can trust, just to see if I will break or attempt to escape. I am not an idiot. I'll not just go and-"

"Severus." Arthur interrupted Snape's blabbering rather harshly. "You're being too loud. I _am_ Arthur Weasley." He paused. "We had Order meetings at 12, Grimmauld Place, which Sirius Black inherited from his family. Professor Dumbledore was the original secret keeper. You were adamant about not letting Harry, Ron and Hermione know about Grimmauld Place because you thought, with how vulnerable Harry was to You-Know-You, You-Know-Who might be able to somehow read his mind. You wound up being rather right about that later on. You didn't want Ron and Hermione to know because... what did you say... ah, 'indeed. They think they can withstand the _Cruciatus_, being unmercifully tortured. Their love for Potter will lead to their being captured, which will inevitably lead to betrayal'."

Arthur paused, looking at the man in front of him. "Then you continued to inform my wife of methods of torture that Death Eaters use, such as skin being lifted off and rape, and we almost lost the vote to bring them."

"Weasley." Snape sighed, all signs of scowling gone from his face. Now he simply looked... tired.

A grin spread over Arthur's features. "We've been planning on getting you out since day one. Kingsley agreed to let Death Eaters be punished in that fashion, to get them under control without the use of dementors, but he never dreamed they would include you, after being cleared. By the time he got wind of it, it was too late. They had already Apparated away with you." Arthur reached out to place a hand on Snape's bare shoulder. "I promise you, had we-" he stopped.

Snape gave another violent shudder as Arthur touched him.

"Merlin's beard, you're like ice!" Arthur said, pulling his wand out of his inner robe pocket and aiming it towards Snape.

Snape, continuing to shock George, closed his eyes tightly and began to tremble, turning his face away from Arthur.

Arthur seemed to take this in stride. "I was just going to cast a warming charm on you, Severus." He said quietly, stuffing his wand back into his robes. "See, look, no wand."

"Look, Professor." George broke in. "We're trying to help you. Tomorrow, me, Bill, Professor McGonagall and Dedalus Diggle are all going to be at the auction. We're going to make sure we buy you if it takes all the Galleons in Gringotts."

Arthur placed a hand on George's forearm, silently signalling for him to stop. "George, why don't you go stand watch outside."

George felt the urge to argue, but didn't. His dad could help Snape out more than he could. Standing watch would probably be a good idea... he stepped over many sprawled out legs to go stand outside to keep watch... and hoping to God that things could someday go back to the way they were years ago, back before a single maniac nearly destroyed the world.

* * *

Severus eyed the man wearily. It was Arthur Weasley, he knew this. It had to be a member of the Order, to bring up that debate they had once held, or someone who used Legilimency on a member of the Order. But, realistically thinking, no one at Henderson's wanted to torture him enough to go through all that effort. Master wouldn't have even gone through all of that effort. It _had_ to be Arthur Weasley, except... except why was he here?

"Severus, what happened? You look terrible." Arthur said, reaching up to push back the hair the had once again fell over Severus' face.

Severus shied away from Arthur's hand. Arthur Weasley would not hurt him, he understood that well enough. He did. But... but he did not want to be touched. Just... no. His mind felt really hazy, but someone touching him was not good and must be avoided, he knew that. Besides, he liked the hair over his eyes. It made him feel as if he could hide... like when he was a child and he covered his eyes, thinking that since he couldn't see his father, his father couldn't see him...

"Severus?" He realized that Arthur was waiting for a response.

His brain kicked into gear through the fog. Arthur Weasley being there was bad. If anyone saw him talking to Severus...

"You must go." Severus said, finding that the water Arthur had given him took away the hoarseness of his voice. He had done a lot of screaming that day and hadn't been given any water.

"It's all right, Severus – we've got hours." Arthur shifted, obviously uncomfortable on his knees. He apparently had never spent hours at a time in such a position.

"It is not all right – you must go." Severus insisted, panic beginning to set in. "If Master finds out you have been here... if anyone finds out... I cannot do it again, not again... no, you must go... you-"

Severus was too caught up in his racing thoughts to notice the alarm in Arthur's eyes. "Severus, take a deep breath. You're completely safe right now. I promise, no harm will come to you because of this visit."

_He cannot promise that. No one can promise anything like that. Not even Master. He said that everything would be fine at Henderson's and all I would have to do is let them look me over and everything would be fine but it wasn't fine and Master left me with them and let them hurt me and- _he once again became aware that Arthur was speaking.

"-hex? Did they hex you, Severus? You need to breathe. You need to calm down. The sooner you do, the sooner I can leave."

Severus looked up. Master said for him to obey everyone unless it contradicted his orders... did that include Arthur Weasley?

_It is not worth the pain in your forehead if it does and you do not obey. _He nodded, trying to focus on Arthur, trying to breathe and calm down as Arthur ordered.

Arthur smiled a smile which looked very forced to Severus. Not that he wasn't used to that. No one ever smiled at him unless they wanted something, felt bad for him, or was smiling at his expense. "Severus, I need you to tell me something; last month, an Auror brought you to someone named Nigel Mering, correct?"

_Nigel Mering... who is... Master! _Severus nodded. He didn't know what he was supposed to say in reply to Arthur, so he did not say anything. He just put his eyes down at his lap. His head felt like an endless fog, but he knew he wasn't supposed to make eye contact with someone he was unequal with. He absent-mindedly noticed that the cloth that was still tied securely around his waist was hiked up, leaving little to the imagination. In the back of his mind, he supposed he should care, but he didn't really. It was too hard to even be aware of what was going on, much less to do anything about it...

Arthur followed Severus' gaze and quickly pulled the cloth back over Severus before Severus could flinch at his touch.

"Severus," Arthur's voice was soft. It sounded like a pillow. Soft, like it could put you to sleep. "What did they do? Tell me, what happened today?"

Severus looked up and carefully examined Arthur's face. His brows were furrowed, the lines in his face deep as he looked over Severus... he looked _concerned_. "Do not worry – I will sell for a lot tomorrow." He assured the man. There was no cause to be concerned.

"I'm not worried about that, Severus. I need to know what happened today. What time did you get here?"

"Morning." Severus answered. "It was morning and I made sausage and eggs because Master had porridge yesterday. Master fed me a lot because it would be busy day and it was. It was a very busy day." He looked back down at his lap. His hands were hanging above his head... how did that happen?

"How was it a busy day, Severus? What did you do?" Arthur pressed.

"Master made me look into their eyes and they tried to perform Legilimency on me and they thought they did, but they didn't because I Occluded really well and put up fake or futile memories." Severus said with pride. But the proud look on his face quickly crumbled. "But please don't tell Master, or he will be angry and hit me and make me hang off the bar and then make me let them use Legilimency on me _again_!" He hated it when Master made him hold onto that really high bar in the basement and made him hang there. He wouldn't allow him to let go and it was hard to hang there for hours and hours and it made his fingers cold and whole body ache because his muscles were sore.

"I won't tell him, I promise." Arthur assured Severus quickly. "What else happened?"

"A woman gave me an examination. She took away lots of scars and ran a great deal of scans and took away my cloth but she gave it back." Severus said. A beetle was crawling on his leg – was the beetle as cold as he was? "Her hands were cold."

"What else?"

Severus thought a moment before speaking, but he did not take too long to gather his thoughts, even though it was hard too because his brain was foggy. He couldn't let Arthur wait too long - he was expecting an answer. "Master made me go with these men. They asked me lots of questions and made me do lots of things for them. And Master didn't go with me! He just said 'behave' and left and he hasn't come back! Did I do something wrong? Why did Master not come back for me?"

* * *

"Why did Master not come back for me?"

"You are supposed to stay overnight tonight. That happened to all the slaves." Arthur winced at his words. He did not want to group Severus in with slaves, and yet... the way Severus was acting took him by surprise. "What did those men tell you to do, Severus?"

"Lots of exercises, and bring them things from across the room, and from the lobby in the other building and other things." Severus said. "They were testing me to make sure I was a good slave and I did not beg to serve anyone like Master said I would." He paused. "And when they asked me a question, I gave an answer they didn't like and they hurt me." Hurt was evident in his eyes. "I said the truth and they were mad! I do not know what I did wrong! Master is going to be angry! He-"

"Then what happened?" It was like pulling teeth.

"They locked me in this room and soon other slaves came and got locked up too. Whoever talked got hit with a cane on the head and I didn't talk very much or very loud." Severus, once again, sounded pleased. "Did you know that most people here are born as slaves and that there are only a few Death Eaters here?"

"What else did you find out?" Arthur asked. This is what he needed to know. He needed to know anything about slavery he could - the books Hermione Granger had brought over and studied were helpful, but anything he could find out from Severus would be more helpful. They also needed to find out how much Severus was expected to go for - slaves sold from 500 to 75,000 Galleons usually – a wide range - and they needed to make sure that they had enough money to buy him. They needed to make sure he was not too sick and if he was, with what, so they could set him up a room in Grimmauld Place to recover, with all the necessary Potions brewed. They needed to know the best tactics that would enable them to walk away with the highest bid. And they needed to let Severus know they were coming. He was a Slytherin - he would be able to form an unstoppable plan. At least, that was what the Order had thought. Severus' condition made him far from his normal state, and Arthur highly doubted Severus would be able to plot well.

"Nothing else, really." Severus said. "See that man? He was being sold from a brothel. He got too old. He was only thirty-two, but they like their workers really young, so it did not matter. He was sold there when he was nine, so he lived there a long time though he didn't start working until he was sixteen because-"

"All right." Arthur didn't need a biography on someone he could not afford to take pity on. They barely had enough money to purchase one slave, much less two or three... or everyone there. "How much do you think you will be sold for? We need an estimation, at best."

"Master thinks I will sell for a lot." Severus said, proudly. "The Potions and Dark Arts make me very valuable, and being trained by Master makes me even more valuable. Did you know he is apparently notorious for training slaves? His slaves always sell for more and that will make up for the fact that I am a Death Eater, because they think the Death Eaters might sell for a little less."

"You're not a Death Eater." Arthur felt the need to point out. "You were posing as one, but you are not one. Not really."

Severus cocked his head. "But I serviced the Dark Lord. I stole and I hurt Muggles and I tortured people and-"

"All right." Arthur said, holding his hand up. He didn't want Severus to embark on another rant. The longer he went on, the louder he got. They could not afford loud. "Severus, tell me. Was it before or after they shackled you to this wall that they gave you a Potion?"

"After." Severus verified. "When it was dark and the room was very full and the slave wouldn't stop laughing and yelling and saying bad stuff, they wouldn't stop hitting her with the cane and they finally dragged her out and made us drink a Potion. It was made of Cornflick seeds and Guisefide flakes, and ground up Grindlow beak and-"

There was no way Arthur would be able to remember all of those ingredients. "But what does it do?" He interrupted.

"It makes you really tired for eight hours." Severus stated. "I used to put it in James Potter;s pumpkin juice so he would fall asleep and miss classes or mess up his homework if he stayed awake and he never knew." This time, he smiled showing all his teeth. Arthur could not notice that the teeth that were normally yellow were much whiter. Snape's appearance had gone from bad to worse in one month – the improvement in his teeth was certainly an oddity.

"That's really creative, Severus." Arthur said, noting how Snape seemed to preen with the compliment. "So it was supposed to make you and everyone else fall asleep?"

"It worked." Severus stated. "I woke up because I don't sleep." He frowned, as if realizing that statement didn't make sense.

"You don't sleep?" Arthur inquired.

"Not really. I close my eyes and try to rest, but I cannot sleep. Never sleep. It's always good to be prepared in case Master tries to use an Unforgivable or another spell so I can fight it off or not scream." Severus explained as if he were explaining a simple concept instead of a horrid reality.

"How much do you think you will sell for?" Arthur silently admonished himself for getting off-track.

Severus shook his head. "How much do slaves sell for? I once tried to read a book about it but there was so much information in it and so little time and I did not get very far. Did you know the mark on my forehead is-"

"Yes, I know." Arthur said. "Are you hungry?" He pulled two ginger biscuits out of his pocket. "These are really soft – Molly just made them this afternoon. I realize you cannot use your arms, but if you do not mind eating out of my hand..." He winced. Of course Severus would mind eating out of his hand! He might be on a Potion, but that didn't mean he would bend to such demeaning actions if he could prevent it.

But to his surprise, Severus tilted his head forward and captured the biscuit in his teeth. A chuckle escaped his body frame as he chewed and swallowed the biscuit, evidentially pleased with taking the biscuit from Arthur or the taste of the biscuit.

"Is it good?" Arthur couldn't help but smile. It was a pitying smile, but a smile all the same.

Severus' chuckles immediately subsided. He swallowed the biscuit hard before looking back down at his lap. "Yes, sir. You must go, please, sir? It's not an order – never an order. I am supposed to take orders, never give them."

"I will leave in a moment, Severus. Would you like the other biscuit?" Arthur held the last ginger biscuit out to Severus, his insides twisting at being called "sir" by the former Potions Master.

Severus hesitated. "Master might get mad. He never said I could."

"Surely he wouldn't object. It is just a ginger biscuit. He never said you couldn't, and he doesn't have to know, does he?"

"Slytherin." Another smile spread over Severus' face before he took the biscuit into his mouth.

Arthur had a feeling it would take a whole lot of biscuits to make Severus gain enough weight to be healthy. Even though the man had always hidden under voluminous robes, he had been a thin man for as long as Arthur had known him. But surely he had never been _that_ thin. He was not skeletal or anything, not like some of the people the Death Eaters had taken prisoner during the War that had been recovered after the Last Battle, but too many more days in the harsh treatment he was under...

"The plan for tomorrow is for Minerva, George, Bill, and Dedalus to arrive at the auction separately." Arthur stated. "Kingsley was determined to come as well, but we talked him out of it. Everyone knows that the Minister has a lot of money, and we cannot afford to have your price inflate beyond our means." he paused, unsure if Severus was listening to his, for he was humming under his breath, but he continued anyway. He was running out of time. "We're going to try and buy you when the time comes. Your goal is to go for the least amount of money possible, all right? Do whatever it is you need to do – even if you get hurt or in trouble doing it, in the long run, it'll be better."

That had Severus' attention. "I must go for as much as possible!" He stated, his voice undeniably louder. "Master will be angry! He told me I must go for plenty or he will buy me back! I must behave – that is what he told me to do! The last words he said to me were 'Snape, behave', so I must! He called me 'Snape' – he only does that when I am in trouble or if he is very serious! If I do not obey him-"

"Calm down." Arthur tried to quiet the man's frantic cries. "All right, obey him. Forget about going for a low price. Calm down."

Severus immediately quieted.

Arthur slowly got to his feet. Being on his knees for that long was killing him – he wouldn't survive in that position another moment. "I see we're getting no further tonight." He said tiredly. The evening escapade felt like a let-down. He had banked on finding a desperate, conniving Snape with thirty equally clever and complex plans on how to escape. Instead he had found an incoherent, frightened, starving man with his thoughts never wandering very far from punishment and survival. It was very disconcerting.

"We'll be back tomorrow and you'll be eating a home-cooked meal in a nice warm bed by sundown." He assured Severus, who looked up at him blankly, the glazed look still in his eyes. "Just whatever you do, do not tell anyone – _anyone_ – about George and I coming here."

"Yes, sir." Severus repeated the sentence that once again bothered Arthur more than it normally did when he heard it.

Arthur turned around and made quick work of Obliviating the conscious slaves in the room before once again promising Severus that he would be all right. He then left the room and quickly locked it, before waking up the guards and performing complex memory charms on them so that they would never recall missing any time and would only think that time was passing by faster than they thought. He then Apparated back home, ignoring all of his son's questions.

Severus Snape was alive, that was good news. But that was the only good news. He hoped that the man's state was just because of the Potion, but he was not entirely certain. The Severus Snape he knew was a strong, brave, headstrong person – he could not be turned into a mindless servant _ever_, especially in one month.

When he told his wife this, she quietly asked him if perhaps they were overestimating him. After all, everyone had a breaking point. It sounded reasonable for most people, but Snape? A breaking point? That idea seemed ludicrous, and yet, after the night he had... not quite so.

**Coming soon in **_**Unwell**_**...  
Chapter Fifteen: **_**Selling Point**_


	15. Selling Point

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen  
"Selling Point"**

* * *

He woke up with a harsh kick to his ribs, which were at a perfect kicking angle. Being suspended from the wall starting at hip height tended to do that...

He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his head. Where was he? What was he doing? He had a huge headache and could barely think. His head felt heavy. Everything looked hazy. It was hard to even process thoughts - he felt like he had either slept too much or hadn't slept in days. He was vaguely aware of someone talking. He turned his head at the sound of the voice, trying to make out the blurry shapes around him.

"-behave. There is to be no noise, no screaming, no complaining. You are to comply with every order we give you, everything we do. You're not to argue with anything. Don't think we're beyond hitting you with the cane up in front of your potential owners, because we're not, I assure you." The man sent a meaningful look to the fourteen-odd-year-old boy chained across from Severus, who had definitely made it clear the previous day that he was not fond of the idea of being sold. His master had apparently raised him like a son, but had died of old age (247, the boy had stated proudly). He was experiencing a bit of culture-shock, being thrust into the world he was in.

Severus could empathize with him - he had felt the same way a month ago. He could not help but feel a bit angry at the boy's master - why hadn't he had a will and expressed who he wanted the boy to go to? Owners could do that - slaves were their property and could be given to anyone they pleased. Surely at the age of 247, one would have formed a will... that was just irresponsible.

"No glares, no snorting, no nothing." The man in his booming voice, which made Severus' head hurt even more than it already did.

He shrank back and shut his eyes tightly. His head felt like it was going to explode... why did it hurt so? He half-wished Master would come touch it - that usually made it feel better, but he hated it when Master touched his head because he used it against Severus. Severus couldn't help it when his head was touched by Master, he could only moan and sigh with contentment, bunt his head again Master's head, or exhibit similar behaviours, as much as he didn't want to. It just felt so good all over... like something Severus had never experienced.

But then again, when his head normally hurt, that was because he had spent a great deal of time defying Master. The burning would last for as long as the enslavement curse deemed appropriate, and most of the time, Severus was better off approaching Master and asking him to touch his head, which would immediately relieve the pain. Severus had only done that once, but hated having to do it so badly he was content with the burning in the future. The only way to be healed straight away was to approach his master and ask for forgiveness... it felt wrong, shameful... though Severus' head felt so foggy and heavy, he couldn't remember why it felt that way.

He licked his dry lips. They tasted odd... like... he licked them again, being sure to get the crevices of his lips. Ginger. Had he recently eaten ginger? He could not remember... they had given them a bite of those dry pieces of bread that were supposed to fill you up with one bite (and did). Severus knew all about those - he was raised on them. But those tasted dense, dry, and tasteless.

Not... _Weasley_. He had had a dream the night before about Arthur Weasley. Something about being rescued, wanting to know how much Severus would be sold for... but it had been just a dream. Arthur Weasley would never come try to rescue Severus. He was likely too angry at him for taking off his son's ear, for... for... hadn't another Weasley child died? That was likely Severus' fault, too. He couldn't remember if it was or not... his head was too heavy... he was really tired...

"Hey, you. Death Eater?" The woman chained beside him spoke to him.

He blearily turned his head to her. She was dressed in a simple calico dress. It was old, but... pretty. "Yes?" He asked, his throat dry.

"You're going to want to wake up - they are going to start the auction soon, and the more awake you are, the better chance you have of being sold." She said. "You're going to want to look alert, intelligent. If you go out there and look like you look now, they are going to think you are mentally slow or something."

Mentally slow? He felt that way, but he wasn't, he knew that. "Well, aren't you the expert." He said, pulling against the shackles, arching his back, in an attempt to wake himself up. It wasn't worth feeling the shackles cut into his skin to stretch his muscles.

She scoffed. "No. The gardener at my master's place suggested it. He was sold twice before, so he knew."

"Oh." Was all he could say. His nose itched. He wished he had a way to scratch it.

"Are you scared?" She asked, her blue eyes betraying the fact that she was. "I've never been sold at all before. My mother belonged to a man who lent her to Master until she got pregnant. A couple days after I was born, they gave me to Master... it was some pre-arranged deal. I don't really know why Master didn't just go to some private breeder. They normally let their women get pregnant. Well, not 'normally', but 'sometimes'..." she flushed. "Sorry. I'm ranting."

"Indeed." Severus sighed, licking his lips again. The ginger taste was gone now, but he was sure it was there earlier. Was it? Or did he just imagine that? "No, I am not frightened of being sold. Why should I be?"

"Why?" Her eyes widened, as if Severus'[ question was ridiculous. "You don't know who you're going to be sold to! They could be evil! They could be twisted sadists who just enjoy watching people in pain! They could want you simply because they have a female they want to impregnate! They could want you to do some awful task, like murder someone... so that you would get caught, and they wouldn't and-"

"That's ridiculous." He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in it. His thoughts were becoming more clear now that he had a conversation to focus on. "Owners are held responsible for their slaves behaviour, by law. If you were to murder someone, your owner would be held to trial, not you. They would likely euthanise you if they thought you murdered someone by your own free will, or put your owner in Azkaban, leaving you to whoever he or she designated in her will, or to the Ministry." He liked being able to say clear facts. It made him feel something he hadn't felt in a long time... proud. Superior. He knew something she didn't.

"You're missing my point." she sighed.

"I am not." He stated. It wasn't as if it mattered, really. "You are worried about who you are going to get sold to. I am asking you why you are worried about it. It is not as if your worrying will change anything. If anything, you will start to worry and it will show when you are being sold. Your demeanour could make some potential buyers not want to buy you, and a sadist who likes to torture innocent and scared looking twenty-year-old girls buy you, a sadist who wouldn't buy you if you walked out confidently." The time game. He hated all the lectures he had gotten on it from Minerva in the past, when she found that he was in possession of a time-turner. He had never actually used it - he gave it Dumbledore, because he had been to afraid that he would use it to try and fix his mistakes with Lily. That could have potentially ended in disaster, trying to change the future...

"That's not fair." She frowned. "You're making it out that how I act when I go out there can change my life from one way or another."

"It might." He said vaguely, closing his eyes. "You will likely never know."

"Are you a philosopher or something?" she asked.

That emitted a chuckle. "I should like to think that, though I have a feeling that most would-" The pain in his head increased ten-fold. He opened his eyes, wincing, seeing a large figure standing over him, holding a cane in hand.

"Are you done talking?" The man bellowed, hitting Severus on the shoulder with the cane. Any harder and something would have broke.

"Yes, sir." Severus gasped before gritting his teeth to keep out from moaning in pain or telling the man that his bellowing was louder than Severus' quiet responses to the girl's statements.

He stared defiantly at the people around the room once the man left the room. All the other slaves were either smirking at him, pretending not to look at the idiot who just got himself punished, or looking at him with outright distaste for being a Death Eater.

One might look down and ignore their expressions - Severus found it useful sometimes, he had to admit. When Master gave him dirty looks, it was always best to be submissive and take it, and not respond or challenge him. But these slaves... they were his equals. Finally, he was in the presence of _equals_. He could treat them however he wanted. The thought made Severus smile a little on the inside. Never on the outside. He rarely smiled in the presence of others. It conveyed a sense of vulnerability.

He used to smile. He could remember doing it. When he was a child, when he attended Hogwarts... he could remember smiling in the corridors. Laughing, even. Usually because Lily said something funny... he missed her. He knew it sounded pathetic - he was a grown man, but she was his _friend_. His only friend. And he killed her. Nothing he could do would ever fix that.

He watched as two men burst into the room and, with a wave of their wands, let the shackles around one of the slaves fall. They pulled him to his feet and practically dragged him out of the room.

Severus could hear a lot of people talking, people bustling about outside the warehouse, but couldn't understand what they were saying.

"It's time." He heard someone mutter to another.

It was time for the auction. Any moment now, Severus' future, the rest of his life, would be sealed. And as much as he tried to delude the girl with his changing fate stories, he was a little frightened. Because even with the changing fate factor, he had little control over the situation. And there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

It had been a Potion. He knew that the big burly men that served as guards had made him drink a Potion the night before. They made everyone drink a Potion. Severus had drank it simply because had had no way out of it. He knew what it was - it was a simple Potion to make one drowsy and fall asleep. He had slipped it into James Potter's food on more than one occasion. If the person resisted trying to fall asleep, they would be practically insane. They would have lucid thoughts... it was a Potion that medi-wizards and medi-witches used to perform surgeries on people. When the one getting surgery on was asleep, the surgery could begin.

It was likely the Potion that had made him dream about Arthur Weasley. It was in no way affiliated with Dreamless Sleep - it did not create the absence of dreams. He had likely dreamed the lucid, insane idea that Weasley, of all people, was coming to save him. If it were a Weasley, they would have used their Gryffindor impulses and simply freed him right then and there. They wouldn't have rattled on about nonsense about buying him. Someone buying him was Severus' idea - a sensible idea. Gryffindors were many things, but "sensible" was just not one of them.

He could not remember what he said in the dream. It was all so unclear that he wouldn't have been sure he even had the dream if he did not have the idea in his head... maybe he just thought he had the dream? Yes, that had to be it. He would have remembered it better had he been dreaming. He had a talent for remembering dreams.

He watched as slaves were dragged, one by one, from the room. The slaves in the room had little in common - they were male, female, old, young, from all parts of Europe. But they all had one thing in common, aside from being slaves - as they were dragged from the room, a look of intense fear flashed on their faces. For some people, it was a brief flash in their eyes before they resumed a calm façade. A few had full hyperventilating panic attacks. Most seemed resigned to their fate, and aside from the look of fear they had on their face when dragged from the room, seemed relatively calm... somehow. If that made sense. Severus was starting to grow used to his thoughts not making sense. When he had no one to convey them to, no magic to help him sort it out... not even a piece of parchment to write them down on, he tended to not make sense.

The burly men came over to him and waved their wands. The shackles holding up Severus' hands opened, leaving Severus' arms to fall down. He didn't realize how numb his arms were, how sore his shoulders were, until that happened. If he did not have such a high pain tolerance, he would have groaned or even cried out at the sharp pain at the knots in his shoulders.

He tried to stand up on his own with as much dignity as he could, but the men were too quick. They grabbed him by his upper arms, their big, meaty hands nearly going all the way around his naturally thin arms, and pulled him up. They took long strides to the door.

Severus tried to take large steps to keep up, but it was hopeless. The oversized guards likely _liked_ being superior and above the slaves, and enjoyed being bigger, tougher... or at least being able to do something about it.

Severus kept his face completely calm as the men dragged him from the room. He thought he did a relatively good job of it. He had only had twenty years of practice. At least twenty years.

_Breathe. Stay calm. _It was easier said than done. His fate would be decided in a matter of minutes... at least, he thought so. He had little information to go on - he honestly hadn't a clue of how long it took to sell a human being. He was basing his information on the amount of time it took for the men to take one slave for the room and to come back for another. Three to five minutes, ten tops. It did not take long.

He had an insane idea to ask the men what to expect, but shot that idea down. They would probably just laugh at him, or even slap him. It was really not worth getting his jaw dislocated. That had happened to someone the night before, but the guard had fixed it after the slave went though what he deemed enough pain. After all, you had to be broken to sell, but not physically broken. If you were physically broken, you wouldn't sell. You were not worth it.

An old woman had whispered a story about her brother who lost his arm in the first War against the Dark Lord - he had been on the Dark side, as his Master requested. After the War, he was deemed useless and simply killed by his owner. That seemed a bit extreme - losing an _arm_ was enough to kill him? She was likely exaggerating, but she made a good point. Severus had to stay healthy to stay alive. It was not as simple as Master had made it out to be. He had to obey and stay healthy. That could be a tall order.

"Okay, listen, slave, because I'm only going to say this once." Someone hissed as they climbed a short set of wooden steps and stood against the warehouse, outside a door. It was Master, waiting for him.

Severus nodded. Any information or advice would prove to be most valuable, even if it was not very good advice. As long as it was not an order, he could sort out what was good advice and what was bad, and choose to only follow the good advice.

"You're going to go out there and keep your head bowed." Master instructed him. "You are not going to fight, complain, or say anything if they don't tell you to. A lot is riding on you selling for a high price, and I'll not have you ruin thirty-two years of good business. If you do not sell for at least 10,000 Galleons, I will buy you back myself and train you until you sell for more." He grabbed Severus by his hair and jerked his head back, forcing eye contact. "And I have a feeling that you're too smart to have to go back, aren't you?"

Severus shivered as Master traced his jaw. He hated it when Master did that, when Master performed mock gestures of caring. He hated looking into Master's eyes - he had been punished numerous times in the past four weeks for making eye contact, and now that he was supposed to...

"I understand, sir." He murmured.

"What's that?" Master pulled his hair even harder, intensifying the headache. Severus hated that Potion with a passion - he usually brewed it substituting the jollerworms with paisley roots, which subtracted the side effect of headaches. He hated the more common brew. If headaches could kill...

"I understand, Master." Severus choked. The pain in his head was horrible, the strain on his neck bad, not to mention how hard it was to talk with one's head craned back so far. "I understand, Master. I will behave. I will be good. I promise."

Master let go of his hair, a smug smile on his face. "Good." He nodded to the guards, who tightened their grip on Severus' arms. "Whenever you're ready."

Severus did not have time to let the nervous pit in his stomach grow. The men just opened the large wooden door, causing a large amount of sunshine to pour through the open doorway, and walked out, leading Severus with them. Severus rather unconsciously hid himself behind one of the guards.

"Sold, for twenty-five thousand!" The auctioneer exclaimed. "Your property will be on this left side of the warehouse. Please have any other owners present, as well as your wand and another form of identification present when picking up your property." The auctioneer turned and nodded to the guards, who walked forward.

Severus tripped on an uneven piece of wood as he stepped forward and did not allow himself to grimace in pain at the big splinter in his toe. He tried to keep his eyes on his feet, but that did not keep him from taking in his surroundings.

He was on a makeshift stage, or at least, not a very well built one. It was made of wood that no one had bothered to smoothed out with a simple spell or charm. There was a place to shackle people in the centre of the stage, with brown stains all around it. Blood, no doubt. Luckily, it did not appear as if they had been using that that day.

Many people surrounded the stage. Enough people to call it a crowd. Severus could not look over the crowd very well, not without raising his head, but it was safe to say that everyone there could certainly afford a slave. Most of them were, no doubt, rich Purebloods with money screaming to be spent in their Gringotts account.

Or perhaps they did not use Gringotts as a bank. He spotted a man from China near the edge of the stage, and a black man who, by the way he was dressed, was from Africa. How popular was Henderson's? How popular was slavery? Severus had always thought it to be not a very popular thing. Surely if it were, he would have had more experiences with slaves. But if the amount of people at the auction all intended on buying a slave...

_Someone out there is going to be your owner. _He tried not to shudder as the goosebumps went up his spine. It was really quite terrifying, really, to-

"-Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Severus was distracted from his private thoughts by the man's words. A few words caused him to snap to attention, no matter who spoke them or the context; Lily, Potter, Dumbledore, Dark Arts, The Dark Lord... "Hogwarts" was another one of those words.

"He also served as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher there for one year, and Headmaster for another." He paused. "All of you know him to be the murderer of Albus Dumbledore, but I assure you, he is perfectly tame. He has been in training for quite some time now, his trainer being none other than Nigel Mering." he paused as a buzz went around the crowd. "Now, he could not hurt a fly. Unless, of course, you tell him to."

The crowd chuckled. Apparently that was _funny_? Severus did not see the humour in the comment.

"He is a half-blood, but do not let his heritage fool you - he could likely brew or invent any Potion you need. He has been known to invent quite a few spells." Severus knew at that moment that the auctioneer was indeed a Slytherin, or at least an Honorary Slytherin. The auctioneer did not let the audience stop to dwell on the fact that he was only a half-blood, and he did not mention that most spells he invented were for the use of the Dark Lord. But it did not matter to Severus either way. He was having all of his good traits pointed out, something he rarely experienced. It did not matter that they were slightly exaggerated to him.

"Look up, slave." The auctioneer tapped his hand none too gently on Severus' chin.

He raised his head up, looking over the audience. Over, not at. He could not look at them, or Master would get angry... though there was nothing he would have liked more to do than give them defiant stares. Defiant stares were less humiliating than just going with what the auctioneer and his master wanted.

As the auctioneer droned on all the good hereditary features he had, despite his appearance, Severus noticed a flash of carrot red that startled him, and quite frankly, sent his world into a tailspin. It was not carrot red... it was Weasley red.

He turned his head slightly and peered at the individual. It was a Weasley twin... the one that was alive... without an ear. Yes, he was missing an ear. It was most definitely him.

Severus' stomach did a somersault. That hadn't been a dream. That hadn't been an idea of a dream. That had been real, a reality. Arthur Weasley _had_ come last night. Severus felt like he deserved a beating at that moment - why hadn't he made the most of it? Why hadn't he shared plans he had thought of with Arthur? What _had_ he said? Did he say _anything_ helpful? He inwardly winced. Likely not.

The young Weasley nodded in Severus' direction. The child had evidentially done a lot of maturing, or was putting on an act. He was solemn... but he was there! He was there, and he was going to buy him.

He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. As much as he detested the idea of being owned by a Weasley... perhaps it would not be half bad. They would likely feed him whenever they could afford to - maybe their leftovers - and they definitely had room to house him somewhere. Molly Weasley would never allow anyone to sleep in the cold cellar. And their punishments would never be too harsh... they would never tear Severus' skin open, heal it, and begin again. No... they would not beat him as hard to begin with. And they wouldn't need to. Severus would do everything they asked. Living with them would be heaven compared to Master's... and most others who could potentially buy him.

The former Potions Master was so caught up in his thoughts, the possibilities, how close he was to salvation, that he did not notice to bidding had begun until a familiar voice shouted out "15,000 Galleons!". It was not the voice of a Weasley, however. He peered in the direction of the voice – it was Minerva McGonagall. He would recognise her grey pinned back hair, pointed face, and tartan hat anywhere. She was a sight for sore eyes, he had to admit.

"Minerva." He whispered. The had had a plan the whole time. They could not just come and pull him out of Master's – that would have been illegal. They realized that. They realized that the only way of getting his life under control was for someone in the Order to buy him.

It soon became apparent that the Order was battling against a single person. Minerva, Bill Weasley, Dedalus Diggle, and the unnamed Weasley twin were in separate parts of the crowd, bidding separately, but never against each other. They were trying to make the person they were bidding against, a tall man with long silver hair and a nose that was reminiscent of a pig's snout, think that too many people were bringing up the price and give up. And then, he would be theirs... the thought would have sickened him one month ago, but now he could barely hide his glee. One had to be realistic – with a permanent enslavement curse upon him, he would always belong to someone. He _had_ to. It was simply a matter of whom.

"15,500!" The silver haired man called calmly.

"15,600!" Bill hollered.

"16,000!"

"16,400!" Minerva called out again.

"16,800!"

"17,000!" Fred or George, whichever one it was, shouted eagerly.

The Order was evidentially trying to purchase him for the lowest price possible... Severus shifted nervously on his feet, without thinking about it. How much money did the Order actually _have_ to purchase him? 17,000 Galleons was quite a large amount of money. _Quite_ a large amount. He did not make that much money in a year – not in two years, even. Various members of the Order likely had quite a sum when pooled together, but it was not likely to be too much. Slaves commonly sold from 5,000 to 75,000 Galleons, depending on their worth. Balancing out his expertise in Potions and the Dark Arts (and ultimately, defence against such) with his Death Eater history, he would still probably come out high priced. Master had wagered on 23,000 Galleons, at least. And Master was always right.

_No, he is not. _Severus corrected himself. _Whenever Master says something, even if it is wrong, you are to act as if he is right. You are to say he is right. But it does not mean he _is _right!_

"18,200!" Minerva called out, against the silver-haired man's 18,000 Galleons.

The crowd was silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Severus once again shifted on his feet, his heart beating fast, so excited his teeth hurt. He was so close... in a few hours, he would be just fine. He would likely be owned by Minerva, who would likely take good care of him. As headmistress of Hogwarts, she even had the responsibility of deciding who to let room where in Hogwarts... she might even permit him to take up a room of his own... and perhaps a bed...

"18,200?" The auctioneer called out. "Does anyone care to raise 18,200 Galleons for this intelligent and completely harmless slave? Going... going..."

"20,000 Galleons!" A new voice shouted out. The voice was firm, confident, sure of himself.

The entire crowd turned to see who this new voice belonged to. Severus kept his head bowed, teeth gritting, in a near panic. It had to be Dedalus Diggle... it had to be. No, that was not his voice, but perhaps-

"Sold for 20,000 Galleons!" The auctioneer flashed a smile to the audience. "Your property will be on this left side of the warehouse. Please have any other owners present, as well as your wand and another form of identification present when picking up your property."

**Coming soon in _Unwell...  
_Chapter Sixteen: Meet the Owners**


	16. Meet the Owners

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen  
"Meet the Owners"**

* * *

Severus allowed himself to be led over down steps off the side of the stage, numb with shock. He shouldn't have been, really. He hadn't expected to be bought by anyone he knew... but he had come so close. So _damn_ close! Why hadn't the Order raised the bid? Yes, the auctioneer hadn't given them much time, but surely...

"On your knees." The guards instructed before turning away and walking away.

Severus glanced away as he resumed the customary position on his knees. It was different than when he knelt in front of Master for a meal or something of the like. There were two types of kneeling - the simple kind, when he knelt for a meal; on your knees, leaning back on your heels. But then there was the more submissive kind, reserved for being scolded, punished, or other occasions... he had had to get in the position when he first became a slave. Knees apart, leaning a bit more forward. It was not much different, but it was more uncomfortable. But that was the pains of having to be submissive to people.

"Head down." A woman warned him, grabbing a fistful of his hair and jerking his head further down that it was.

He silently swore, without moving his mouth, of course. That would never due. He would only get in trouble for that. But he was about through with that hair. He would prefer now just to have it all chopped off. Hair long enough to grab was just a hazard these days, even though his hair was hardly long compared to some. Just to his shoulders was nothing compared to most wizards of his age and older, who tended to keep it past their shoulders, or even to their lower back.

"Severus!" He heard a panicked voice say.

He jerked his head up. The four Order members were standing outside a simple rusty Muggle barbed-wire fence, keeping the slaves, all in kneeling positions, between one warehouse wall and the fence. Not that any of them would be idiotic enough to try to escape - there were plenty of wizards around to stop them, fully armed with wands, and then there were the tracking spells one could use on their slave's brand. Even those slaves who were fortunate enough to have the envied non-visible brand had tracking spells on them.

He looked back down to his knees. He couldn't look at them. He couldn't. Not kneeling, barely clothed, having just suffered the humiliation of being... sold.

_Why did you even bother coming? _He felt like asking them. _I was fine with this - absolutely fine with it! You just had to raise my hopes and let them fall to the ground and shatter, did you not?_ But he could not say that. He could not say anything. He was likely not allowed to, and while he was still technically owned by Master, he was not going to do anything that could merit punishment. And who knew what his new owner was like? Perhaps he was a sadistic monster, just like the girl next to him had described.

"Severus?" Minerva tried again. "Severus, answer me!"

His head jerked back up. His eyes narrowed. She was ordering him around, now. Now he had to answer... even though he would much rather ignore her. "Hello, Minerva." He said dryly. "Nice day, isn't it?"

The dry comment felt better than it should have. For a moment, he felt a sense of... normalcy. But that was quickly dashed with a kick from the woman standing behind him, guarding the awaiting slaves.

"Is that any way to talk to a lady?" she scolded him. She looked up at Minerva apologetically. "Some are trained better than others, as you can see. Have you purchased someone?"

Minerva numbly shook her head, from what Severus could see out of the corner of his eye. He could hardly look at her. He had just been kicked - hard - in the rear by a woman he had never even met. And he could not do anything about it. He had suffered much humiliation in the past weeks, but he would gladly get in Medusa's bed every night for the rest of his life to avoid having Minerva, Dedalus, and a couple of Weasleys see him in such a position.

"Then I will have to ask you to clear away from the fence." The woman said, not as nice as she was formerly, knowing that these people hadn't purchased anyone. "We need to clear the way for traffic."

"We need to speak with him." Minerva said, urgently. "It is very important."

"You are perfectly welcome to ask his owner when he or she comes to finalize the purchase." The woman said. "But I am afraid that while he is in my charge, he is to do nothing but kneel and silently keep his slave eyes to the ground." She rammed her foot none too gently into his lower back. Why? Likely just to see him cringe or grimace, just to give her a feeling of being above him. But he would not give her a face like that - she was not his owner. He did not have to please her in the slightest. Though he probably should, since he was still under orders to obey anyone and everyone... but not in front of the Order. Never.

Minerva reached out and grabbed a tight hold on the younger Weasley's wand arm, which was extended and pointed towards the woman keeping charge. "No, George. She is just doing her job. Let's just wait until his..." she stopped.

_Owners_, Severus wanted to spit out. It was a word. There was no harm in saying it. Avoiding saying it only made it more humiliating. He agreed with Dumbledore that fear of a name only increased the fear. He used the words "Dark Lord" merely out of habit – he had needed to keep up his cover as a spy and refer to the Dark Lord as such. But if he hadn't had to, he would have taken pride in uttering the word "Voldemort" and watching others squirm.

He shifted slightly, hating the feeling of a sharp rock grinding into his bony knee. But there was not a lot of things he could do to move the stone - if he moved too much, the woman would likely punish him. And his arms were still chained behind his back.

A stylish man and woman approached the guarding woman, who had now moved down the line, scolding a four-year-old slave for so much as sneezing. "We're hear to pick up that one." The man nodded towards Severus, his short hair trimmed to the nape of his neck like most Muggle men kept their hair.

"Ah. All right. Do you have your wands?" They showed her their wands - the woman's was one Severus had never seen before. Her wand was white, likely eleven inches long... but then again, white seemed to be the woman's colour. Her hair was piled high on her hair, and was so blonde it was almost white, like Draco Malfoy's had been when Draco was a young child. The woman's robes were an elegant white, with pink lace trimmings. He noticed, just as an observation, how her figure was very unreal. Her bust was not the size of a normal woman's. She certainly did not have any taste, at least, letting them protrude out of her robes like she did.

He forced his eyes back to the ground before he could scrutinize the man in a matter of milliseconds. They were supposed to be his new owners. He could not pass judgement on them like that. That would be wrong. Against the rules. Against everything he had learned while at Master's. And he knew as well as he knew anything else that he did _not_ need to go back to Master's.

He stole a glance at Minerva and the other three Order members while the woman guarding the slaves and his new owner exchanged proof of who they were and such. The look she was giving him was nothing short of pity. Pity.

He shot her his basilisk glare, hoping to get his message across. He did not _need_ pity. He never had, and he never did. Though he supposed he looked pretty pitiful in his position, she knew better than to pity him. She knew how much he _detested_ pity of all forms, especially when it was directed towards him.

But did she know that? Perhaps she did not know him as well as he thought she did. Perhaps she only pretended to, because she knew how valuable he was to destroying the Dark Lord when he came back. Perhaps that was it - perhaps she had just pretended to be his friend until he was no longer useful...

_No. _He scolded himself for the ridiculous notion. _If she feels that way, then why is she here? She is here to help you, and the Dark Lord has been defeated. You are not of any use any longer to her, which means... which means she must care... _no. No one cared about him, he understood that... but there had to be _some_ reason she was there.

It was easy enough to figure out why the other people were there. Dedalus probably thought he owed Severus something, and the Weasleys... they were likely looking forward to seeing their evil Potions professor in such a vulnerable state. They were probably looking for some form of twisted excitement.

"Look up," the guard grabbed his hair and forced his head up to look into the faces of his owners. The man's eyes were not the essence of warmth, but they were not cold, necessarily. He had a thin brown moustache, curled up at the corners. Perfectly aligned teeth... the woman wore much too much make-up, and whilst Severus did not know the name of whatever she had spread over her eyelids, it was blue and made her look like a-

_Do _not _think anything negative about them! You cannot let yourself get in the habit of that!_

"Touch your wands to his forehead as I say the spell." The woman said. "Do you want the brand to be visible or not?"

"Invisible." the couple said at the same time.

The woman nodded and began speaking the French words Severus knew all too well. Though he had only heard them spoken twice, he had them memorized, permanently etched into his brain. He doubted he would ever forget them. But on the plus side, if he ever wanted to turn someone into a slave, at least he would know how.

The burning that overtook his body took away his very breath. He had forgotten about that part. His body, his magic, was being transferred ownership. As if it did not hurt the ego badly enough, it had to hurt physically as well. And the burn was bad enough to... he fell to the loose dirt in a heap, just as the burning stopped.

"Severus!" Minerva gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth.

Severus tried to sit up, spitting the dirt out of his mouth. But he could not. Not with his hands still shackled behind his back. He was forced to lay on his stomach, on the ground, and to just hope he did not get any more dirt in his eyes, and that the back of his cloth had not flown up.

The man - his new owner - chuckled and grasped Severus' arm, half-helping, half-pulling Severus to his feet. It was not a laugh like Master's... it was a more friendly laugh, as if he found it genuinely amusing... somewhat. But not in a sadistic way, as if he did not necessarily enjoy seeing Severus flop around on the ground but... but that he found something else amusing. Because if he were laughing at that, surely...

Severus' eyes narrowed. He did not like to not be able to read people. It was disturbing, to say the least.

"Excuse me." Minerva called to his owners' attention. "Excuse me, may I have a word?"

* * *

Severus' new master walked over to Minerva, who was standing with Bill Weasley outside the barb-wire fence, which Severus and his new master just walked around. Severus' new mistress had just flounced off to the powder room.

"Severus," Minerva did not bothered to try to hide the tears welling in her eyes, refusing to fall, as she gripped his shoulders, which was the easiest part to grab of him what with his hands behind his back.

Well, the easiest part to grab, except save for his hair.

"Severus, I am so sorry this happened. We tried... but we did not know what to do! We only had 18,000 Galleons between all of us... we would have done anything - anything - but we could not possibly bid any higher than what we did!"

He kept his eyes on his feet. He did not want to look at her face. "It is fine." He said, well aware that his master was watching him. The last thing he needed was to embarrass his master with improper conduct. There was no sense in exchanging meaningless words with Minerva. "Please do not apologise."

"Look at me." She demanded.

He did, though it was hard. He did not know what expression to put on his face. A scowl, a sneer perhaps? No - that would only result in a punishment. But he did not want to look pitiable either - his best chance was to just keep his expression blank.

"Severus, we need to know what else to do. We're mostly Gryffindors, mind you." She blew her nose as she bitterly laughed. "Albus would have been able to come up with a fine plan, mind you, but with him gone..." her face was earnest. "What do we do? We want to help."

What was he supposed to say? His master was standing right there, listening to every word! And there was nothing they could do, not unless they had more than 18,000 Galleons. "Please do not feel bad." He shrugged. "You tried."

Minerva's face became a hardened scowl. "Severus Snape, I realize this is hard for you, but you need to be honest with me. You need to tell me what we need to do, how we failed. _Please_." she paused. "Call us 'foolish Gryffindors' or 'dunderheads'. Please?"

Severus bit his lip. "I cannot. You're not."

"Where are you?" She gently shook him with her hands. "Severus? Severus, you've only been gone a month. It was only a month ago that we were sitting at the head table, conversing about the students... surely in that length of time, you have not-"

His head was starting to spin. After having his magic and physical being bound to someone else, he was exhausted. The lack of sleep, plus the pain he had endured equalled being very dizzy. And that was not even counting having his hopes raised and dashed... and then to have it dangling in front of him and being able to do nothing.

He turned to his master, his head still bowed. "Master?" He tested it out. It felt odd calling him that... he was not the Dark Lord, nor was he Nigel Mering. Yet he did not even know this man's name.

"Yes?" the man inquired.

Severus shifted uneasily on his feet. "May... may I..." he did not even know what he was asking. "I do not know what to say." He admitted. He reached out and caught himself on a wooden post that held the fence up. He could not fall down just after being bought. His new owners had been forgiving over the first fall, after becoming their slave, but would they lose their patience at a second fall? Likely.

"Excuse me, madame, but it looks like the missus and I should be getting home. It is already noon in London, and we have reservations at one."

"Of course." Minerva said, though she looked like she could care less. "I am Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you see, and I was wondering, what are the odds of our Severus being able to pop in occasionally? Just to speak on Potions or perhaps just for a meal or two. We will pay dearly for his time."

Severus could have kissed her. The worst his master could say was "no" and forbid Severus from ever speaking to Minerva again... but at this rate, he was not likely to see her again anyhow.

Severus' new master seemed to weigh this decision. "I'll think about it." He said finally, casting a weary look at Severus. "If you send him an owl, it will go to me first, you realize. I will read every letter you send to him, and I do not have time for a lot of that. I don't have time to make sure he Floos there and back on time, either. He belongs to my wife and I."

"I understand." Minerva said, quickly. "I would appreciate it if you do think on it, though. Perhaps as a reward for good behaviour?"

Severus inwardly winced. There were no rewards for good behaviour. Good behaviour was expected of him. You were expected to be completely submissive and obedient. If you were not, you were punished. Never _rewarded_. Did Minerva know _anything_?

"We'll see." His master said, though his heart did not sound in it. He nodded to Minerva. "Good day, madame." He turned on his heel and began walking away. With one last hopeless look at Minerva, Severus turned and followed.

_Master, Master, Master. _He turned the words over in his head. He hoped he would not have trouble calling the man that. It was just that, whenever he thought of the words "master", he immediately thought of The Dark Lord and Nigel Mering, nowadays, the latter, usually. Now he had someone else to add to that list.

And "Mistress". He had not even had to use that term before. He hadn't been in close enough contact with women that past month... _Mistress_. The term made him wince. It made him think of women that would be used by men like Lucius Malfoy, who were married, but also had a woman on the side that was considered his "mistress". The term meant something completely different in this case, but it would do him good to get the 'adulterous woman' definition out of his head. It wouldn't do for him to think negatively of his mistress, not ever, but especially since he was just bought not fifteen minutes ago.

"We agreed to meet here." His new master said, leaning against a tall oak tree.

Severus nodded, not knowing what he was supposed to add to that. Apparently his new master was trying to make conversation, so he obliged. "Yes, sir."

The man raised a brow at him. "So, a Death Eater? I'm sure you have plenty of interesting stories. My son would probably love to hear them."

_No stories children should hear, by far. Stories of torture, death... _nothing Severus cared to repeat. "How old is your son, sir, if you do not mind me asking?"

"Sixteen. He just turned sixteen a few months ago." His new master pulled out a cigar and lit it with his wand. "He is in Durmstrang's foreign exchange programme. Hogwarts is just simply too rustic for our tastes."

_Rustic? Rustic? How is Hogwarts 'rustic'? _"I see." Severus replied. "Durmstrang is a fine school." He looked down at his toes. He could not argue at all with his new master - he was best off doing the opposite and kissing up.

His mistress floated up to the tree. "Are you through, darling?" She asked her husband.

He nodded. "Why don't you go ahead and Apparate home? I will follow with him." He nodded towards Severus. "He does not have Apparating privileges yet."

_Nor is it possible to Apparate to some place you have never been, _Severus wanted to retort. But he didn't. Of course his master knew that. He was likely not stating it because it was so obvious.

The woman nodded and quickly popped from view. His new master held out his arm and grimaced when Severus touched it, as if he were carrying germs. Then Severus heard a familiar _pop! _

They melted away.

**Coming soon in **_**Unwell...  
**_**Chapter Seventeen:** _**Just a State of Mind**_


	17. Just a State of Mind

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen  
"Just a State of Mind"**

* * *

"Severus!" a woman's voice called from the sitting room.

Severus looked up from his work. He was busy going through the flat, applying polishing charms to every piece of furniture there was. But when Mistress called, he was to come without hesitation and obey.

_It is nearly five o'clock, _he reasoned as he pocketed his wand and went down the hall and into the brightly lit sitting room.

Mistress was lounging on a chaise in front of a very large window overlooking the posh area of the city. She had a magazine in her lap and was smoking a cigarette.

"Mistress." He bowed as deeply as his balance could allow. He did not need to kneel - that was simply a waste of time, according to his new owners, when he could show his respect just as fervently without getting on the floor.

"Get some of my fine parchment and my best quill. I need to pen a letter to Mrs. Galini. She has invited us to her grandson's wedding in three months, but of course, we cannot attend. Richard has already gotten us reservations in Italy for that very week."

"Yes, Mistress." he said, rising from his bow and padding into the bedroom she shared with Master. Inside her desk were various pieces of parchment that had fine designs around the edges. He selected an inkwell and quill off the desk and returned to her side.

He knelt on the white carpet and with a wave of his wand, conjured a small stool to place the parchment on. He positioned the quill, ready to copy her words down.

He was personally looking forward to the Italy vacation. They were taking him with them, of course, but they would likely spend so much time touring and going to fancy theatres, expensive restaurants, and visiting famous people that he would not have to spend much time with them. They were more than likely to leave him alone in their hotel suite most of the time. He could use some alone time. He was rarely guaranteed any time to just sit down and sort his thoughts out, to relax. Of course, as a slave, he was not allowed such time, nor did he need it. He was alive to serve Master, Mistress, and their son, Master Nathan.

"Dearest Selena," Mistress began in her nasally voice, flicking her cigarette's ashes into an ashtray which magically banished all the ashes to the waste bin straight away. "Congratulations on finding a match for dear Landon."

Severus began carefully copying her words down in a fancy script. His handwriting had always been bad; small, cramped... but in the past three months, since being owned by Master and Mistress, his handwriting had drastically improved. Mistress had him copy letters down for her at least four times a day, often to kings, emperors, presidents, and very influential figures, both Muggle and Wizarding. It was crucial that the handwriting was very fine indeed.

"We are so very thrilled to hear of his engagement to Princess Fidelia. May they bring you plenty of happiness and enjoyment throughout your years." She continued.

Severus knew that many of the royal Purebloods treated their offspring in a similar way to the way Master and Mistress treated him. He had to ask before he did nearly everything, and if they said for him to do something, he had no choice but to immediately comply. Royal children were often betrothed, had to attend very important events, and do other things, even if they did not want to. They were treated like trophy cups.

"Richard and I, unfortunately, will be unable to attend the bonding ceremony. We excavated an important three week trip to Italy of the utmost importance. We would stay behind if we could, but you understand how things are."

As she droned on on meaningless words that could be much better summed up with "we are not going to the wedding", Severus bit his lip. Mistress often put words in her letters that did not mean the right thing. "Excavate" had no purpose in that sentence - it would only serve to confuse the recipient of the letter, but it was not his duty to question Mistress. If she wanted to send a letter that made no sense, it was her decision.

It was now late December. He had quickly learned to adjust at his new owners' home. They lived in a large luxurious flat in England that was carpeted with expensive white carpet. They had other slave, Carita, who was 119 and served as a cook. She was not extremely well-skilled in chores other than cooking, hence the purchase of Severus. Severus had been an anniversary present for Master and Mistress that they agreed on. They both had their reasons for wanting to buy him, some of the reasons Severus knew they had not shared with one other.

Master was an owner of a very prestigious company. He did not have to work every day, having the job he did, but just the same, he woke early in the morning and left for work, and did not get home until five-thirty in the evening, sometimes later.

Severus knew that he did not go to work everyday, that he spent quite a large amount of time at his brother's house, where they drank, had parties, or fucked various slaves that Master's brother owned. Severus knew because once Master had taken him with him - Severus had spent the day in the kitchen with the House-Elves. He did not care to witness what he witnessed on a regular basis, for whenever Mistress got the urge to, she did the same thing to Severus, forcing him to pleasure her. Master did the same when Mistress was not home, but thankfully, it was not as often, for Master's methods were always as painful and humiliating for Severus as possible.

Mistress was happy in her oblivion to her husband's activities. She spent her mornings usually lounging around the house in expensive satin dressing gowns, smoking, pretending to eat food that she really did not eat, reading magazines, and composing letters. She spent hours shopping in various places, in various countries. Sometimes she dragged Severus along to carry her purchases, which was really unnecessary as she could place a Feather-light charm and a Shrinking spell as easily as he could. But he could not deny that he did enjoy getting out of the flat every now and again.

He copied words down onto the parchment, mindful not to drip any ink spots on the carpet or the parchment itself. He was better clothed as Master and Mistress' than he was at Master Mering's. He wore a simple white shirt and black trousers every day. No shoes, no robes, but he could not complain. Robes were for witches and wizards. He was a slave that could perform magic. There was a distinct difference. And after parading around in that filthy loincloth for a month, he would wear just about anything.

He signed the words "sincerely, with all my love, Mrs. Christina Jacqueline Diana Johnson Weston" with a flourish. He then performed a simple drying spell, to keep the painstakingly copied words from smearing. He looked up at Mistress, who was gazing out her window and contentedly smoking.

The letter was complete - he was to send it. He did not mind writing the letter, but sending it was another matter.

He stood up and sent the stool back to his closet, where it was kept. He rolled up the parchment and brought it to Mistress, who, with a lazy touch of her wand, put her seal on it. He then walked over to the large cage by the window, which held a large white owl.

"Hello Bianca," he greeted the owl in what he hoped was a friendly voice. He opened the cage. "Mistress has a letter to send to Mistress Galini." He tentatively put his arm in the cage, with the intent of having Bianca to jump on it so he could help her out of the cage. But she would have none of it – she took a harsh bite out of his skin, taking a great piece of flesh out of his hand.

Severus grit his teeth. Bianca was Mistress' owl, who happened to hate Severus with a strong passion. He could not insult the bird or treat it badly – Bianca was Mistress' familiar, and like it or not, was above him. He had to treat her with respect, even though he hated her. He had never met a more obnoxious familiar in his life, however.

"Mistress would be very pleased if you could send this letter." He withdrew his arm out of the cage and gave the owl plenty of room to fly out.

And fly out she did. She flew out, landed on his shoulder, and promptly took another wealthy chunk of flesh off his brow.

"You hostile bird!" He growled, snatching her off his shoulder and none-too-gently placing her on the windowsill, despite her loud squawks of protest.

"Don't you dare manhandle Bianca!" Mistress said shrilly from her position on the chaise, just now looking up to observe the interaction between her slave and her Familiar.

"I am not, Mistress." He scowled, tying the letter securely to Bianca's leg, despite her even louder protests. "Bianca simply hates me. Perhaps if you were to give her the letters to send for now on, she-" he opened the window and practically threw the bird out. If he were lucky, perhaps she would get lost and not return for a week.

He hated that obnoxious bird. He turned around to see Mistress staring at him, her ice blue eyes narrowed. "In the kitchen." She barked. "You're to put your wand hand on a hot burner until you're sorry you ever laid eyes on my baby." Her baby being Bianca, of course.

Severus immediately got on his knees. _Not this... I cannot do that... it will hurt... _he was no stranger to pain, but punishment was punishment, and it was not comfortable. "I am so sorry, Mistress. I am. Please forgive me." He purposely did not add the part about punishment. Sometimes Mistress was forgiving and did not hurt him. He craved those moments. Those were one of the few moments in his life that made it seem like his life was not one of complete pain. He knew he deserved to be in pain when he was, and that he was very fortunate to be owned by Master and Mistress, people who actually fed him, clothed him, let him bathe and sleep...

"You're not sorry. You're sorry you got in trouble." She pointed to the kitchen. "Go. I don't want to see your face for the rest of the night!"

His face burned as he stood up. "Yes, Mistress." he said quietly, pushing open the kitchen door and letting himself in.

The small kitchen was full of rich smells, of roast lamb, with carrots and potatoes cooked in its juice. There were three loaves of bread rising on one counter, a fancy white cake in the pie safe, along with what appeared to be a cherry pie. Carita stood at another counter, her pale wrinkled veiny hands snapping the ends off fresh green beans with ease.

She raised her brow. "Mistress punish you again, child?"

"I would rather not speak of it." He muttered, using his wand to let a burner light up. Mistress let him use his wand all the time – why did he have to be so ungrateful?

"You really should be less chatty." She continued snapping the green beans, as if he hadn't spoken. "The only words to leave your mouth in their presence should be 'yes' and 'no'. After all this time, you think you would have learned that." She paused, watching him as he put his right hand tentatively on the burner, only to pull it back, hissing in pain. "What did you do to have her tell you to do _that_? Do you realize that Mistress has never punished me? Never. Not once in the twenty years she has owned me."

"Good to hear." He said, through gritted teeth. The flesh was already blistering on his hand. In a way, it was almost worse than the Cruciatus, which thankfully, Master and Mistress had never performed on him. For the pain to be so concentrated in a single spot...

He bit his lip and put his hand back on the burner before jerking it back again as reflex once more.

"Are you going to tell me what you did?" Carita returned to her green beans.

"Bianca." He said simply. "Why they keep that dratted bird is-" he stopped. He couldn't insult Bianca. Insulting Bianca was like insulting his owners, which quite simply wasn't done. He _had_ to stop doing that.

He replaced his hand on the burner, this time determined to keep it on there for more than a millisecond. He lasted perhaps two.

Carita chuckled. "After she let you raid her book collection last evening, you insult her Familiar? Child, when will you ever learn to-"

"Well, I'm glad that my guilt is so amusing to you." Severus snapped, waving his wand with his good hand to shut off the burner. "Would you like me to hex myself as an encore?"

The slave stopped laughing and eyed Severus carefully. "You brought this upon yourself."

He sighed, wishing to run cool water over his burning hand. He bit his lip to keep from letting the tears that automatically welled in his eyes at the pain from falling. He hadn't cried since Master Mering's and was standing by his vow to never do so again. "I am such a wretched slave."

Carita didn't argue. "Well, you have plenty of time to learn, child. The methods you are using to learn, however, are not good ones. You keep insisting on holding onto whatever it is you had before you became a slave. You need to just do what they say and not question it. Make the focus of everything on making them happy, not on how you feel."

"Because you would know all about it, wouldn't you?" He snapped. Perhaps he could approach Mistress later that evening and ask her to heal his hand. Even though she did not inflict the injury, she told him to, so therefore the enslavement curse would not let anyone else heal him. If he tried, the injury would just hurt more.

"I was trained by Mistress' great-grandparents." Carita said with a simple shrug. "Just because I was born a slave does not mean that I do not know all about it."

Severus opened a cabinet and began digging through it with his good hand. "You would not happen to have any Potions to heal my hand? Perhaps later tonight, if I bring Mistress a vial of Potion, she might-"

"Not tonight." Carita told Severus. "She has her Ladies Club meeting."

Severus froze. "Tonight? Already? Did she not just have one last week?"

Carita gave a wry smile. "Child, that was already two weeks ago."

"Damn." Severus shut the cabinet and leaned against it, his large nose squashed up against the wood. "Master Nathan is here. Master wouldn't-"

"He is not the type to teach his son to do such things, no, he is not." Carita confirmed, reaching for an onion and beginning to slice it up. Her slices were not as even as Severus would have been able to make them. "But it doesn't matter, does it? Master will do whatever he wants – there is no sense on dwelling on it." she paused in speaking, but her knife continued to slice rapidly. "There is no sense in feeling humiliated – you are not yours, you understand. Your body, your magic, your mind, your soul... everything belongs to Master. Just because he takes sexual pleasure in seeing you in pain does not mean-"

Severus knew that. It was not as if he was not reminded of it every day. He did not protest any longer, nor did he hesitate. But it was still a struggle sometimes to obey. "It's not sadism." He said quietly. "Master just does it to punish me."

His statement caused Carita to pause in her slicing and raise a brow at Severus. "Really?"

Severus nodded. He hated to speak of this, but he had to make it clear. "I deserve what Master does to me. He does it to make me learn, to punish me for all the things I do wrong."

"Hmph." Carita returned to her slicing. "Someone been messing with your psyche, child?"

He pushed off the cabinet with his head and started for the kitchen door. He couldn't tell Carita the truth, that he had to convince himself that the hours of torture Master put him through was for punishment and punishment alone. If he thought it was anything else other than that, he might fight back. And he couldn't. It was still an odd form of the control game he used to play at Master Mering's, only this time it was so much more important.

Because he could not die at the hands of the enslavement curse. He could die of old age, of getting hit by a Muggle vehicle, of an illness... but not because he tried to murder his master. That would be defeat in itself.

Once every fortnight, Mistress was sure to leave the flat in the evenings. She would go to her Ladies Club, where, Severus assumed, they pretended to eat their expensive little cakes and drink their teas. They likely talked about absolutely nothing of importance, and did nothing of importance. Severus normally did not care what Mistress did. She, unlike himself, was her own person and could do what she pleased. But when she left in the evenings, Master was home alone. And Master, whilst he normally treated Severus extremely well, he played games while Mistress was gone. They were much worse than things Master Mering had him do.

Master would always seek Severus out after he ate, and start by pulling out a wealth of "adult toys", as Master liked to refer them to. He would then restrain, tie up, plug up, gag up, twist, tug, pull and push every part of Severus until finally, after hours of washing Severus squirm, moan, beg, and plead, pound him into the floor. Then he'd simply leave after removing just enough of the "toys", leaving Severus to remove and _Scourify_ everything, redress himself, and pretend that nothing had transpired when Mistress was gone.

Severus hated every moment of it, but yet, he was no stranger to the strange practices of Pureblood marriages. He understood how Pureblood marriages worked. Most Pureblood marriages were arranged through "matches". Once a Wizard was about eleven or twelve, their parents started to find them someone to marry. At about the age of seventeen or eighteen, the wizard and witch would marry, someday have children, and so on. Some of the marriages were happy marriages, but most of them operated on appearing to be "the perfect couple" in public, and infidelity behind the scenes. Of course, some couples agreed on being unfaithful to each other, others just pretended it didn't happen. Severus' owners fell into the latter category. Severus and Carita knew about the men Mistress had over when Master was gone in the afternoon, and they also knew about the both men and women Master was with whenever he was not at home. Master and Mistress never spoke of it to each other, of course, and even made up lies to tell each other where they had been.

It was never a matter of outward appearances, of personality, of... of anything, when it came to the men Mistress brought over. It was just anyone who would have her, which, quite frankly, was quite a lot of men. She was only thirty-five, and with her body, had every straight man on the pavement chasing after her. Master, on the other hand, was not particularly attractive, but that did not matter, for he preferred people who were either desperate and he would never see again, or slaves that his brother or colleagues owned that _had_ to do his bidding. Unfortunately, Master's love for all things bondage fell on Severus, because he could risk physically and permanently harming Severus, because he owned him himself.

The first couple of times, Master had been content to use Severus in the walk-in closet that Severus slept in. But he shortly got to the point where it did not matter – Master toyed with Severus in the closet, in the sitting room, in the room he shared with Mistress, in the bathroom... anywhere and everywhere. He never failed to come up with more strange things to do to Severus, each one worse than the next. Apparently Master thought something was thrilling about another person being tortured – two weeks ago had involved all sorts of restraints and such, and having Severus go about normal chores, while Master just watched him... fighting against the restraints to extend his hand, bending down to pick something up, revealing a plug... all of it was much more humiliating when he was completely vulnerable, but that was Master's intent. It aroused him, Severus knew, but for the life of him, he didn't know why.

But it was nearly Christmastide. Master Nathan had arrived home from Durmstrang the previous day. Surely Master would not parade his sick fantasies (Severus) around the flat with his son in it? It was unlikely, even Carita had agreed to that. Perhaps Severus was truly in for a gentle, quiet evening. Perhaps Master would be content to listen to the radio or read a book. Perhaps he might even let Severus read – Mistress had let Severus read a bit from her bookshelf the night before and it had been glorious. She had had nothing but Muggle romance novels meant for women, but that did not stop Severus. A book was a book these days, and he would embrace any chance he got to read one. Master's books were mainly fiction and still nothing of great interest to Severus, but they would likely be more interesting than Mistress'...

_Snap out of it. Do not delude yourself into thinking this is going to be a _pleasant _evening. It could _possibly _be not a bad one, but that does not mean it will be a _pleasant _one. _His pleasant days were few and in between. As the previous night had been so enjoyable, tonight could not possibly be such.

The front door busted open and Severus quickly made for it. It was Master Nathan, along with two other boys.

"Master Nathan." Severus bowed low. "Sirs." He reached out and helped Master Nathan slip from his coat, ignoring the blistering pain in his right hand, then turned to hang the coat on the coat rack. He took the other boys' coats and did the same thing.

"He really is one of them then, isn't he?" One of the boys asked Master Nathan, impressed. The boy was very tall for a sixteen-year-old – he was as tall as Severus. He was just as muscular as he was tall, with short black hair shaved close to his head. His English, though flawless, had an unmistakeable Norwegian accent.

Master Nathan nodded eagerly. "Show them your Dark Mark."

Severus ducked his head. He had gotten used to covering it up again. It was not something he wore with pride. But what Master Nathan wanted, Master Nathan got... he pulled on the sleeve to his left arm, revealing the ugly black skull and snake design that had unfortunately not died when its creator did. It would be there for the rest of Severus' life as a constant reminder for his biggest mistake he had ever and would ever make.

"Whoa." The other boy said. He was shorter than both Master Nathan and the other boy, but with more bulk. He was just as muscular or even more so. His hair was shaved just like the other boys'. His accent was unmistakeably English. "Can we touch it?" He asked Nathan, who nodded.

The two boys began molesting Severus' arm, examining the Dark Mark. Master Nathan had already done so the previous night after he arrived from Durmstrang, so he acted indifferent to his friends' excitement.

Severus just stared into space, trying to ignore his annoyed feelings. His feelings did not matter, so he should not bother to feel them. He slipped into using Occlumency without even realizing it.

"I'll bet he knows lots of cool magic he can teach us." The shorter boy said to Nathan, as if Severus were not in the room. "The other kids at school will be so _jealous_ when they find out we know how to use magic they don't."

"Do you know how to use the Unforgiveables?" The tall boy asked Severus uncertainly.

How Severus wished he could lie. He was not about to teach three sixteen-year-old boys Unforgiveables. That was wrong, irresponsible, and- "Yes, sir." He said obediently.

Master Nathan glanced around the flat. "Is Mum still home?"

"Yes, Master Nathan. She is getting ready for her Ladies Club." Severus informed his young master. Master Nathan had no authority over Severus legally – his wand to Severus' head did nothing, nor did his touch to Severus' forehead (which Master often afforded him. Mistress only touched his head if she were using him). But he was still their son and was to be treated with just as much respect as Master and Mistress.

"Let's go to my room." Master Nathan announced, walking down the hall with the other boys. "You come too, Severus."

Severus' feet felt like lead as he rolled down the sleeve of his shirt, hiding the Dark Mark once again. His left hand stung as if it were on fire. It was not every day one was ordered to cauterize their own hand. Normally the punishments Mistress handed out were extra chores done the Muggle way or something such as standing in a corner for hours on end. Master tended to go the route of both pain and humiliation, and that was not counting the nights Mistress was at her Ladies Club...

_The Ladies Club. _He would much rather be in a room with three young, curious wizards who could not use magic outside of school than be alone with Master for the evening. Master was not beyond locking himself and Severus in Master's bedroom and putting up a Silencing charm, after all. And even though he knew it was wrong and selfish, he would rather be teaching Dark Magic to children than spend the evening with a gag in his mouth and a plug up his arse.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall unwound her dark grey hair, feeling much older than she was. The meeting with the Board of Governors had been a complete waste of time, as far as she had been concerned. What was so wrong with wanting to buy a slave to use as a teacher? The idea seemed very practical to her – the school would save much money in the long run, not having to pay a teacher's salary.

Severus' job had been a high paying one compared to the other teachers', at 3,500 Galleons a year, discounting what he got paid for Heading Slytherin. It was not easy to get a skilled Potions Master, and with a simple purchase of Severus, he would pay for himself in roughly nine years time, perhaps a little more. And he did not have to do only Potions – he could assist other teachers when needed, perhaps head Slytherin again... and in the summer, perhaps they could rent him out to good families that would treat him decent. Severus would complain about it, but surely he would see that Minerva did not _want_ him in that situation, but it was that or nothing.

It was a good plan. Minerva thought so. The Order of the Phoenix thought so.

The Board of Governors hadn't thought so. They had several problems with the idea. One, a slave as a teacher? Many parents would object to that. It just was not done, they had said. It was crude, even.

Two, the students simply would not listen and respect a teacher who was a slave. No matter how many detentions given or points lost, the students would treat the teacher badly, in both verbal and physical disrespect. Minerva disagreed – Severus would have had the students in line in a week. He had had Slytherin line up, by height, marching, like soldiers, every year. They knew better than to mouth-off to him, and the other students would learn. But convincing the Board had been another matter altogether.

Three, what if a student told the teacher to take a jump off the Astronomy Tower? Then what? The teacher would do it and there would be a waste of 30,000 Galleons. That had been an argument easily won – Severus was not under that type of enslavement spell, and it could be proven. He was not required to obey anyone but his legal owners, which would be Minerva and the Board of Governors, respectfully. The other teachers or students could not have that sort of access to him.

Lucius Malfoy, the Minerva's slight surprise, had completely agreed with her and even fought for the purchase of Severus. She knew that Severus had always looked up to Lucius with childlike idolisation, ever since Severus' first year at Hogwarts, but she had assumed their friendship had waned after You-Know-Who had killed the Potters. Apparently not so. The fact that Lucius would vouch for having a slave teach was encouraging, even. Perhaps there was hope for him, if not any for the poor former Potions Master.

**Coming soon in _Unwell...  
_Chapter Eighteen: _Lessons in the Dark_**


	18. Lessons in the Dark

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen  
"Lessons in the Dark"**

* * *

The boys lumbered onto the large double bed in Master Nathan's room.

Severus knelt down on the ground – it was only on very rare occasions that a slave was permitted to sit in a seat in the presence of their master. Severus had not sat in a proper chair since he was blindfolded and in questioning at the Ministry.

"Teach us something Dark." The large blonde-haired boy whined to Severus. "Something they won't teach us at school."

Severus bit his lip. "You attend Durmstrang, do you not? Your school is very thorough in their Dark Arts programmes." Though he had wanted to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts back when he was a normal person, he hadn't wanted to actually teach the Dark practises. There was quite a difference between teaching one how to defend themselves against certain spells, and teaching those spells. It was a conflict of interest. Yet, if the boys ordered him to do something, he must... and it was that or he would be available to Master when he got home.

"Their programmes have been the pits all year." The boy crossed his arms. "Now that You-Know-Who is dead, they don't want any more Dark wizards emerging from anywhere. I wish Headmaster Karkaoff hadn't died – my father says that he was the best thing that ever happened to-"

"Quit your whinging, Carl." Master Nathan rolled his eyes. "Teach us the _Imperius_ curse, Severus."

Severus blanched. "I am sorry, sir, but I cannot. You cannot use magic outside of school lest you will get expelled." That was not his true reason for avoiding it, but it was a very good reason all the same. If Master Nathan got expelled on Severus' account, Severus' life would go from relatively good to hell.

Master Nathan rolled his eyes. "Oh please. We're in a flat with three fully-trained adults. It's not like the Ministry is going to hunt us down or anything."

_When did children get so intelligent? _It must have happened over the summer. They certainly were not intelligent last year. Perhaps Master Nathan was the exception. Incredible. It was Severus' lucky day.

"But Master Nathan, the Unforgiveables are-"

"Non-traceable, and you can only get in trouble for using them if you are reported. You can't report us." Master Nathan pointed out.

"I cannot cast an Unforgivable on any of you." Severus pointed out. "To do so would not only be illegal, but also disrespectful and a danger to-"

"Fine, just show us how and we'll practice on you." Master Nathan shrugged. "Don't worry – no Killing Curse."

Severus swallowed hard. He could resist the _Imperius_, but if Master Nathan told him not to... well, it was not like he did not have to do everything the child told him to do, anyhow. And the Cruciatus... perhaps he could summon some spiders or something of the like to teach that.

"You must promise to never actually use these curses." Severus began, his voice strong and clear, even though he felt like curling up into a trembling ball. "If you do, it could ruin the rest of your life. Just because your parents are who they are, just because you are children, does not mean you cannot end up in Azkaban."

"Show us." Master Nathan said, his eyes narrowing.

Severus pulled his ebony wand out of his pocket and performed the complicated flourish that he was familiar with. The three boys pulled out their wands of various sizes, cores, and wood and followed suit.

He closed his eyes. _This really is a bad idea. _"The Imperius curse is an Unforgivable because of quite simple reasons. It cannot be used for good, no matter how you use it. The Imperius, when cast successfully, causes whoever you curse it on to do your bidding. It could be as simple as going across the room to get your book, or to murder someone." Not that he wanted to give them any ideas. "However, an poorly placed Imperius could cause much damage. If you are not absolutely sure of what you are doing, you can addle one's mind," he made sharp eye contact with the boys. It was not quite a glare, which would get Severus in trouble, but one of intense warning, "permanently."

"Get off it." Master Carl, the short blonde one, scoffed. "Just tell us what to do."

Severus raised his brow. "I shall in due time, sir." He returned. "If you wish to do this successfully, you must listen to me." A slight burning in his forehead immediately occurred. Master had told him to obey Master, Mistress, Master Nathan, and their friends. He did not have to obey every wizard and witch he came across, but only the ones that Master and Mistress knew. Telling Carl - no, Master Carl, to do something was wrong, even though he was trying to help him. The enslavement curse just _had_ to pick that up and make his head burn.

He continued. "Because of the risk it places, I cannot permit you to practise on each other. I will be forced to go straight to Master. He told me before you came home, Master Nathan, that I was to immediately run to him if you were to do anything dangerous." He knew his eyes were glinting. "And his orders override yours." It was not disrespectful, but it would annoy Master Nathan... but not enough for Master Nathan to punish him or anything. It made him feel good - even though the boy could kill him legally (though would likely get in trouble via their parents), he was still superior in his knowledge and in his orders.

"We'll practise on you." Master Nathan shrugged.

"If we hurt his mind, your parents will be angry." The quiet Norwegian boy spoke up.

"Yeah." Master Carl spoke up. "He's got a point. Your parents would be so pissed off."

"Fine." Master Nathan sighed. "What are we supposed to practise on then? We just can't practise on thin air."

Severus bit his lip. He could suggest spiders and other insects that they could easily summon from the foundation of the flat... but it made him feel bad to think about it. The spiders could not help themselves - it was not right to risk hurting them just to teach children Dark Magic. A year ago, he would have not given a second thought to it, but yet, here he was, empathizing with spiders. Because it would not be right. Just because they were small and could not hex you did not give you a right to... "I can teach you the correct way to cast and lift the spell, but you should not actually attempt it." He said, putting the word "should" instead of "could". The enslavement curse would interpret that as a suggestion instead of an order, if he was lucky.

Master Nathan cocked his head. "We could always find Muggles to practise on."

"No." Severus said hurriedly. He had no special fondness in his heart for Muggles, for people without magic blood. But it would be wrong to practise on them - not only would the Ministry arrest them for performing magic, illegals no less, on Muggles, but the Muggles were defenceless... "Your parents would be very displeased. Think of the Ministry. They would be notified immediately if curses were placed on Muggles."

"But I don't want to practise theory!" Carl whinged once again. "We do enough of that at Durmstrang!"

"What did you learn on?" The Norwegian boy asked, his black eyes fixed on Severus.

"Spiders." Severus admitted. "But it is not as simple as that. We cannot simply summon spiders and practise on them."

"Why not?"

"Because..." he did not really have an excuse. "Because the spiders might not be spiders. For all we know, they could be wizards in their Animagus forms and-"

"Really? Do you think a wizard would be stupid enough to stay in their Animagus form when picked up by a slave and three wayward teenagers?" Master Nathan barked in laughed. "And we can summon them - wizards can't be summoned, even when in animal form."

True enough. The only reason Severus could was because Severus was a wizard/slave, not a wizard/human. "But it would be wrong." He insisted.

Master Nathan and his friends began laughing wildly. "_You're_ a Death Eater? You honestly care about-"

"I was not a Death Eater." Severus burst out, ignoring the pain in his forehead that could now compete with the pain in his hand. "I learned many Dark Arts and joined the Death Eaters because I was a child. A child and a dunderhead. I left as soon as I found a way out." _Not really. You left as soon as you had a good excuse to. But close enough._

"Go find us spiders, Severus." Master Nathan said in between laughs. "Don't tell anyone what we're up to, either."

* * *

Teaching magic was not as simple as teaching someone how to wave their wand and want incantation to utter. Teaching someone a spell could take hours, day, weeks... even years, depending on the spell. One could try to teach someone how to produce a Patronus for years, day after day, month after month, and in the end, that person very well might not be able to perform that branch of magic. It was just the ways things were. Some wizards were more powerful than others, some cleverer, some more focused, some further devoted... Severus happened to be one of those wizards with all four of those things. No, he did not have the powers of say, Grindelwald. He was nowhere close. But he was not a mere "average" wizard. He could perform quite a bit of magic, all the complicated charms, hexes and curses with quite a bit of power. But there were always your Neville Longbottoms or Peter Pettigrews that could simply not grasp simple concepts, such as "waving your wand in a mindless fashion is not good enough. It must be waved in a certain pattern, in a certain way, for the spell to actually work".

One thing about Dark Magic was that it could not be produced mindlessly. Whilst Severus could _Accio_ an object or use a _Lumos_ with next to no thought, he needed to concentrate, hard, on Dark spells. The Imperius, granted, was not as hard to cast as the Cruciatus or the Killing Curse, but it was very hard. He doubted the children would actually be able to cast anything substantial - their curses would be weak at best - but he was also not going to underestimate them. They attended Durmstrang - two of them in the nearly impossible-to-get-into foreign exchange programme. Their skills in Dark Magic were not going to be mediocre.

He returned to their room with a small box full of stunned spiders. "Before you begin, I must tell you how much concentration is required for the Imperius. You really must focus when casting it. You may have to focus more than you ever-"

"We're learning Occlumency this year. I think we can handle it." Master Nathan abruptly interrupted.

_Occlumency? What kind of school offers to teach Occlumency to sixth years? _He knew Durmstrang specialized in Dark Magic of sorts, but Occlumency was not necessarily Dark Magic. It was like Divination, really, as much as Severus hated to compare it to that. Not everyone had the will and mindset to do it. Having classes on it was a bit ridiculous.

"That said, please do not feel alarmed if you feel pressure on your mind when you're preparing to cast the spell." Severus continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "When dealing with spells that require much mental concentration, it is always best to train and practise with a skilled Legilimens. You-"

"You're not going to look into my mind." Master Nathan said, his blue eyes narrowing at Severus.

Severus sighed, getting down on his knees. He was not going to stand up for the entire argument he was going to have to have. "Master Nathan, with all due respect, it is simply not safe for you to be casting this spell without guidance. I know how to do it, and you do not. If you would please let me guide you..."

"I'm not letting no slave read my mind." Master Nathan affirmed. Master Carl looked just as adamant, whilst their Norwegian friend looked apathetic, at best.

"Then I cannot teach you." Severus said. "I will be forced to tell Master what you are having me teach you."

"You can't." Master Nathan smirked. "That's an _order_, by the way."

Severus shook his head, his dark hair falling in front of his face. "Your orders mean nothing to me when it is risking your well-being. Master requested I tell him whenever you are getting into trouble or danger. The strain this can have on your mind is not worth it. Many Wizards have suffered all sorts of breakdowns and such when learning Dark Magic. I simply will not teach you unless you let me guide you." It was not as if he _wanted_ to be in Master Nathan's mind. Quite the contrary. Using Legilimency on someone to teach them was quite an intimate thing. You had to get to know their mind and be able to gently push it in a certain direction. It was hard work, and took time. Severus did not mind time-consuming labour, but he doubted Master Nathan would be patient enough for him to properly-

"Fine then, but I'm Occluding." Master Nathan huffed.

"It would do you well not to block me out completely." Severus warned. "I am going to need to get a feel for your mind to help you push it into intense concentration."

"Fine." Master Nathan said, getting off the bed and squatting down at Severus' level. His blue eyes looked into Severus' dark ones. "Ready."

Severus looked away. "First I must teach you the incantations, Master."

He found it best to always teach how to pull the victim out of the curse before teaching how to cast the curse. That way, if anyone got carried about and starting casting spells about, they would know how to immediately rectify the situation. It was something that many professors at Hogwarts failed to do, and-

No, he would not think about Hogwarts. Minerva had all but promised to write, and yet, he had not received one letter. One bloody letter. He was not going to think about them. Anyone. They betrayed him. They used him for what he was good for and left him to rot. Which was fine. He never expected anything in return, anyhow. He had always existed just to do as people bid, whether it be his father, the Dark Lord, Albus Dumbledore, or an owner.

"It would do you well to practise the incantation for quite some time before you move onto actually performing the spell." He stated after teaching them how to take someone out of an Imperius. It was not as simple as _Finite Incantatum_; the Unforgiveables had their own spells to cancel spells out, the exception being the Killing Curse, of course, because not even magic could raise one from the dead.

"We understand it." The Norwegian one said. "We learn at Durmstrang to learn spells quickly."

_It would be that way, wouldn't it? _"Just the same, before you practise-"

"They are _spiders_! What's the incantation for the Imperius?" Master Nathan cried out.

"_Imperio_." Severus said reluctantly, looking down at his hands. His wand did not react to his words at all, of course. He was not intending to curse someone with it, nor did he say the spell with even half the inflection, purpose, and concentration the spell required.

"And you say we have to really concentrate on the spell to get it to work?" Master Nathan asked, taking the small box from Severus and pulling out a small spider, enlarging it a bit to see better.

"Yes." Severus replied. "I'm going to have to get into your mind – look at me, if you would, sir."

Master Nathan's mind, though mostly Occluded, Severus found was not a pretty thing. He knew he could likely break down any Occlusion barriers had set up, as unless Master Nathan were an exception to most wizards, the barriers were likely weak. But he had no need to, nor did he want to get into trouble. His mind was very disorganized though – there was no purpose, no method to his madness. Severus had long ago determined that most people in the world, Muggle, Witch, Wizard, Squib, Pureblood, Muggleborn, Half-Blood alike were all mad to a degree, but most had a method to it to make it appear not so, a method they were likely not aware they even had. Master Nathan had no such method – his mind was as disorganized as they came. If anyone ever asked Severus what they thought a teenage boy needed for their birthday or Christmas, he would, for now on, answer with a Pensieve.

_But Potter's had been organized_, Severus reminded himself. The boy had had his mind set up in such a way that he had memories he did not even know about, memories he had blocked...

No, he would not think about Potter. Or Lily. Or the Order. Or anyone else he knew before September 2nd, 1998. Life was simpler that way. His life as a student, Death Eater, his life as a spy, were all past lives. There was nothing he wanted more than to separate himself from them, and he was doing a fairly well-done job of it. He was starting to be able to look at his past life as if he were looking at someone else's memories in a Pensieve, as if he had never really experienced them. He was even starting to lose any emotion attached to those memories. And he liked it that way. Someday, a day would come when he would think of the Order with no sense of loyalty or betrayal either way, where he would be able to think of Lily without a dull pain in his chest... it was as if he was starting over. And the best part was? It was that he was free to do so, and that there was nobody telling him not to do it.

* * *

"I've got a headache!" Master Carl whinged half an hour later, after only succeeding on killing two spiders, by stepping on one and sitting on another.

"Suck it." Master Nathan said gloomily, watching Master Anton make his spider walk back and forth across the room. Master Nathan hadn't been able to put any spiders under the Imperius, either.

Severus was sitting crossed-legged on the ground, by the foot of the bed. His knees could only take so much kneeling, and whilst he had done it for hours at a time before, he was not going to do it for long if it were not necessary. It had been a pretty easy Dark Arts lesson, as far as Dark Arts lessons went. Whenever the Dark Lord had him train new Death Eaters, teaching them all sorts of Dark curses, most failed miserably and wound up having Severus heal all sorts of broken people and body parts. Training three impressionable sixteen-year-olds was surprisingly a breeze, though it appeared only one had any special abilities in Dark magic.

"Teach us something else." Master Anton to Severus, cancelling his Imperius.

He raised his brow. "Really? After your friends failed to grasp the Imperius? That is easier than the Cruciatus." Actually, it wasn't. The Cruciatus was the easiest out of all the Unforgiveables for most wizards, simply because it involved wanting to cause someone pain. As long as the caster truly wanted to cause the other person pain, the Cruciatus would work. The Killing Curse worked in the same way, except that your average wizard usually did not feel the need to kill someone strongly enough. The Imperius was easily the hardest for most, because it required such intense concentration. But Severus always found it easier than the others, simply because he took pride in his great concentration abilities, and even when he had been a true Death Eater, he had never relished in torturing people. He had never killed anyone in cold blood before Dumbledore, but he now knew that the Killing Curse was too easy for the amount of damage it caused.

"To take someone out of the Cruciatus-" Severus began reluctantly, but he did not get to finish his lecture.

"Just tell us!" Master Carl whinged. "We don't _care_!"

"But if you succeed on casting the Cruciatus, you will need to take the spiders out instantly." Severus pointed out. Lecturing students really was like giving orders all the time - no wonder Severus had once enjoyed it so- _no, don't think about Hogwarts, _he admonished himself. Ignoring the burning in his forehead, as the only thing that could take it away now was Master's or Mistress' touch, something he was not so keen on getting, he continued. "These common spiders have very low pain tolerance. More than a few moments of the Cruciatus will kill them."

"So?" Master Nathan said. "They are _spiders_, Severus. Not people."

"You're missing my point." Severus sighed. Obviously trying to get to Master Nathan's humane side was pointless. "If you kill them all, we'll run out, and then-"

"And then you can go get us more." Master Nathan pointed out. "We can send you spider hunting all night." That led the boys into a conversation that was evidentially highly amusing about spider hunting. Severus did not see the humour, nor the sense the conversation was making, but did not interrupt. He just sat silently, waiting for Master Nathan or his friends to address him again.

"So who cares? You seem to think we won't be able to cast it, so where's the harm?" Master Nathan finally turned back to Severus.

How to explain himself? "I have always taught a certain way, Master Nathan. Many people have disputed many of my teaching methods, but not this one. It is always best to teach the counter-curse before the curse itself, as one should know the counter-curse better than they know the curse. It is merely a precaution that I refuse to do without."

"Fine." Master Nathan rolled his eyes as he spoke a in a monotone voice, clearly meant to show him boredom with further arguing with Severus. "What's the counter-curse?"

Severus went on to tell them and explain the wand movements and thought process, but he had a feeling the boys were only half-listening. It might have had something to do with them chuckling and poking the stupefied spiders with their wands.

"And the curse?"

"Must I tell you? Is this not enough Dark Arts for one evening?"

"Tell us."

"_Crucio_."

"_Crucio_?" Master Nathan repeated.

Severus nodded. "Master Nathan, please do not-"

"_Crucio_!" Master Nathan pointed his wand at a no-longer-stupefied spider, which immediately began to writhe in pain. Master Nathan and his friends laughed with glee, as if the spider being in pain was the funniest thing they had ever seen.

They. Were. Laughing. The pain of the Cruciatus was something Severus was very familiar with. He had once undergone it for four minutes straight, after displeasing the Dark Lord. It had been the longest four minutes of his life. It had only taken seventeen to put Frank and Alice Longbottom into madness... Severus had been Crucioed more at Master Mering's than he had at all his years in the service of the Dark Lord combined, but never for four minutes, non-stop. It started with a burning feeling, then a feeling of your bones breaking... the Dark Lord had ended the curse before it could progress, too sensible to kill the intelligent and loyal Death Eater. "Loyal", that was. That four minute long Cruciatus had occurred in 1995, _after_ Severus had changed sides.

Severus pointed his wand at the spider and with a bellow, uttered the counter-curse. The spider stopped writhing and immediately crawled under the bed and out of sight.

The three boys stopped their laughing abruptly and turned to Severus, their eyes narrowed. "What'd you do that for?" Master Nathan yelled. "I did it? Did you see?"

"I saw." Severus said coolly. "The Cruciatus is not a form of amusement. It is painful beyond your imagination, and if you-"

"Crucio!" Master Nathan pointed his wand at Severus.

Coursing pain shot through Severus' body, pain that he had experienced countless times before, pain he would never get used to. He was aware of the boys staring at him in shock as he writhed and grunted on the floor, trying to keep himself from screaming. He was aware of the boys trying to remember the counter-curse and how to cast it. He was aware of the boys hurriedly running out of the room, making plans on how they could avoid getting in the huge trouble they knew they would get into if Master Nathan's father found Severus... Severus was aware of being alone, and in the worst physical pain one could ever feel.

He bit his lip and closed his eyes as tight as they would go. He forced himself to breathe through his nostrils as his body involuntarily jerked back and forth on the white carpeted floor. Hot, burning knives... all over his body... he felt his mouth filling with the bitter taste of blood and was vaguely aware that he had bitten his lip clean through in trying to avoid screaming. But he could only go so long writhing in silence... but he could not scream... Mistress had likely already left for her Ladies Club, and as far as he knew, Master was not home. Screaming would only alert other Wizards in the vicinity, who knew about him being a slave and therefore would not take him out of the Cruciatus, because they would think he deserved it... and Muggles would...

He could not think. He felt like his skin was starting to melt over his bones... that his eyes were going to pop out of his skull... his bones melting... he screamed.

**Coming soon in _Unwell...  
_Chapter Nineteen: _A Night With Master_**


	19. A Night With Master

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen  
"A Night With Master"**

* * *

Richard Weston was a sophisticated, but busy man. He went to the office three days a week, every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday. He went to various pubs virtually unknown in the Wizarding world, on Saturdays - he normally wore a disguise or even took an expensive Polyjuice Potion on those days. It would not due for him to get caught cheating on Tina - it would be front page news, for sure.

On Mondays and Wednesdays, he normally went to his brother's mansion, that literally had "every man's dreams" oozing out of it. Filled with sexy women, free and in slavery, all willing to pleasure them in many ways. The mansion was overflowing with booze and the... it was really hard to describe. One just had to be there. His brother and his friends would just relax and have the time of their lives... of course, as far as Tina knew, Richard had a very strained relationship with his brother. Tina could not know about all of his endeavours. Tina spent so much time at home or at her Ladies Club. She certainly was not cheating on him, so she could not find about him cheating on her. And he was not cheating, exactly... he was experiencing.

Experiencing... that was a good word for it.

Every two weeks, Tina would go out to the Ladies Club. She would often be gone until eleven o'clock or later. That normally left Richard home alone... with the slaves. Carita was an old woman that Tina's mother had given to them as a wedding present, and Severus was a slave they recently purchased from Henderson's Annual Slave Auction, which was, quite frankly, the best place to buy slaves on their side of the world. They had quite a large variety of well-trained slaves, and where else could you go where they literally had seventy-five slaves to choose from at once? Slavery was not an unknown practise, but there were not a lot of slaves in comparison to free Wizards. There were maybe one to every one hundred wizards? If that.

Severus had been a Death Eater. He had been a free man, once. That intrigued Richard from the start. He had been determined, as soon as he heard that there were once free people being sold into slavery, to get one. The idea that they would positively loathe what he had planned...

Severus had been trained well, Richard had to admit. The first chance he had had to take Severus was two days after they had purchased him. Tina had gone to her Ladies Club, to a special meeting. Severus had been in the kitchen, putting away stacks of dishes by Levitating them across the room. Richard had asked Severus to go to his closet... Severus complied with every single one of Richard's orders, though the fear and loathing in his eyes had been evident. And Severus tried to hide it... that was even more thrilling. He had originally pitied the idea that none of the Death Eaters they had seen up for auction were attractive at all, though they had done their best to get one that was at least not too old, Severus looked older than his thirty-eight years. But the amount of resistance Severus put up was worth it.

Tina could never know about Richard and Severus, nor could she know about the other men and women he did things with. Tina was simply not interested in sexual things, and, that said, she was just not _interesting_ as things went. Richard preferred to see people writhing in fear, in pain, loathing, crying... Tina had simply never been into bondage or anything of the sort. She said it was for "sick, twisted people". But you cannot knock it until you've tried it, right?

He could only "play games" with Severus, as he referred to it as, when Tina wasn't around. Guaranteed. Carita wouldn't talk, Severus wouldn't talk, so he was usually safe. But now that Nathan was home for Christmas holidays... he would have to satisfy his sexual urges in a different way with Severus tonight. Nathan was smart - if Richard took Severus into his bedroom and locked the doors, put up Silencing charms... but he could not. The risk of Nathan getting suspicious was too high. Though if he sneaked in the house and Nathan never knew he was home... or he could just go with his original plan.

He waved his wand and opened the front door. It would only open to his wand or touch, Tina's wand or touch, Nathan's touch, or Carita's. Severus hadn't yet been added to the locking charms yet, but he would, soon enough. They had years to add him to it.

The flat, at first glance, was empty. Tina had likely already left for her meeting, which started at six-thirty. He glanced at the clock. _Damn_. It was six-thirty. His son was probably out with friends...

An agonizing scream jerked him out of his thoughts. _What the hell was that? _Raising his wand, he started down the hall. He had attended school in France, where he had met Tina, and their self-defence programme had not been the best, but he knew enough hexes to send any intruder out on their-

He stopped outside Nathan's room and pushed open the door. A stench of sweat, vomit and urine filled his senses. Spiders were sluggishly crawling out of a small box on the bed, and on the floor lied Severus, tossing, turning... no, squirming on the floor. The black-haired man let out another scream, wrapping his head into his arms and curling into a shaky ball before screaming again.

What the hell? "_Finite Incantnum_!" Richard pointed his wand at Severus. Severus did not seem to even notice his master's presence; he continued writhing and moaning, occasionally letting out a scream.

_The Cruciatus?_ Richard had never seen the Cruciatus before. He knew the proper curse and counter-curse, of course. He had learned it when he was a teenager and learned that he would be getting married to Tina. The Weston family had always been well-off and had had a few slaves and servants, but they had never had to punish them. He hadn't been so sure when marrying Tina if they would have had to punish any slaves they had, but figured the Cruciatus was legal to perform on them, so why not learn it? It would be a sure-fire method...

He uttered the counter-curse and waited. Severus did not stop writhing, but he did not scream. He just curled up tighter in a ball, a dry sob escaping his throat.

"Severus?" Richard took a step forward, standing over the slave on the floor. The slave looked very pitiable lying on the floor like that.

"M-M-Mas-M-Master." Severus said breathlessly, awkwardly and stiffly rolling from his side onto his knees in the best kneel it looked like he could manage, which in that case, looked more pitiful than the slave himself.

"What happened?" Richard bent down to get a closer look at the slave. Severus' face was paler than it was usually... ghastly pale so that it was grey. His eyes were rimmed with red and pupils dilated. Cold sweat was drenching him as he trembled, looking up at his master.

"A-A-Acc-Accident." Severus stammered. "F-F-F-Forgive me, s-sir."

Richard waved his wand carelessly, cleaning up the vomit and urine that was all over his son's floor. "It was the Cruciatus. Who cast it?"

"M-M-M-Master N-Nathan did n-n-not kn-now the counter-c-curse." Severus' trembling did not decrease as he fumbled to a more proper kneeling position in front of his squatting master. "He and sirs t-t-t-told me t-to t-teach them. I-I-I tried to t-talk them ou-out of it."

"I see." Richard grimaced, trying not to show his anger. He grabbed his slave by the forearms and pulled him to his feet. "And how did that result to the waste on the carpet?"

Severus looked ashamed. "T-The curse. M-m-my muscles, s-sir. I-I just lost control of m-my muscles. The curse d-d-does that after pro-pro-prolonged..." He reached out and leaned against the wall to help him stand.

"Let me help you to the loo, Severus." Richard said. He was not a cruel man - Severus obviously needed a bath right now, not only to clean off the stench that covered him, but also to soothe any muscles that needed it. The Cruciatus was illegal in most cases for a reason. Richard was not overly familiar with what the curse did, but certainly a hot or cold bath couldn't hurt.

"I-I can m-m-make it." Severus tried to take a step.

Richard grabbed him before he fell. "No chance, slave." He chuckled humourlessly. He helped Severus into the pristine bathroom which was tiled white on the floor, walls, even the ceiling. He let Severus lean against the sink counter whilst he turned the knobs on the clawfoot bathtub. "Hot or cold water, Severus?"

"H-Hot, sir, please." Severus said quietly, his body still shaking uncontrollably as he fumbled with the buttons on his long-sleeved shirt.

Richard turned his attention to his slave and simply waved his wand, uttering a spell he was more than familiar with, a spell which removed all of ones clothing. "Get in." He directed his slave who seemed unashamed in his nudity, not like he had been when Richard had first bought him.

No, in early October, Severus had turned a noticeable shade of slight pink whenever seen without clothing, but now, it did not seem like he cared. Which was not necessarily good. The humiliation was what made bondage so incredibly erotic...

Richard held out his arm to his slave who took it before slipping into the steamy tub. "You wash up." Richard ordered. "I'll go see that supper is ready, and get Carita to clean out the smell in Nathan's room. _Accio_ slaves' other clothes." A pair of neatly folded clothes came into the room, which Richard put on the counter. "Put those on when you're clean and come meet me in the dinning room." He turned to walk away, but paused. He turned to look at his slave, who was emerged in the tub, staring at him with emotionless eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, Master." the slave said, looking down, his deep voice so soft that Richard had to strain to hear his words.

Richard nodded. "Good then." So now his plans would definitely not go as planned. How could Nathan have done such a stupid thing? The Cruciatus, of all curses? What had Severus done to earn that? The way Severus had said it, he had been teaching it to the children, who undoubtedly had ordered it... he hadn't had a chance to see if Severus was the lying type or not, but he did not think he was, regardless of the fact that he had apparently been so good at it, he had a job influencing it or something at Hogwarts. He was not quite sure - his school had never gone by Houses.

But no, Severus kept promises and secrets he was told to keep, so how would lying be much different? Richard knew for a fact that Severus had not told Tina about their bi-weekly experiences, or Tina would have hexed Richard out of the house.

He left the loo and stuck his head into the kitchen, giving Carita her instructions before sitting down at the head of the table, his head in his hands. As much as Tina demanded that Nathan not be punished for anything he did wrong, this was a Hippogriff of a different colour. Severus was not a mere lamp that could be broken and fixed with a _Reparo_ – he was extremely valuable property that it would be an extreme waste to permanently maim.

* * *

Severus stared blankly at the back of the door. Master had drawn him a bath, helped him in it, and told him to meet him in the dining room when he finished? That was it? He did not complain about the mess Severus had made in Master Nathan's room, nor did he complain about... anything. He was being _nice_.

Which was not unusual on a normal day. Severus had only seen Master angry a handful of times. Master was, when it came down to it, a very nice man. He made Severus' life much better than Severus might have received elsewhere. He let Severus eat three times a day, in the kitchen, with a plate and utensils. And an unlimited amount of food - he was not going hungry like he would other places. And in his closet, which was much warmer and dryer than the basement as Master Mering's had been, he was allowed a blanket that he was allowed to cover himself up with when he slept. He was not shackled or handcuffed at all, except for the Ladies Club nights, of course. Master allowed Severus to shower every three days. Not the long luxurious showers that Master and Mistress both indulged in on a daily basis, but hot ones nevertheless.

Yes, Master was very good to him. But even at the disaster Severus caused? If Severus were a father, he would have been furious if his slave taught his son Unforgiveables, and then proceeded to not only vomit and eliminate on the white carpet, but scream - loudly - whilst doing it, likely alerting everyone on the block. But Master only treated him with care...

It made Severus' stomach clench. Master had to have had a plot. Why did it feel like every master that ever had him seemed suited for Slytherin? Master Mering, Severus never did find out what House he had belonged to, but likely Slytherin. Master did not attend Hogwarts as a student, but he would have been suited for the House. And Mistress... she was not suited for Ravenclaw, Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, which only left Slytherin... he used to enjoy the company of Slytherins - in his past life, Slytherins always carried on the most intelligent conversations and generally his favoured company. But he was speaking of clever, cunning, witty, creative people. Slytherins were not really evil or sadistic, though most evil and sadistic people seemed to end up there. Why, why... if he was ever sold again, which was highly unlikely, perhaps he would be bought by a Hufflepuff. Loyal and hard-working... but what would a hard-working person need with a slave?

Severus ducked his head under the water and emerged. There was not a lot of bathing he could do without his wand. Normally he used his wand to create suds to wash both his hair and body - it was simple and practical. "Accio wand." he whispered. Moments later, the door creaked open just enough to let his wand through and glide through the air, landing in Severus' hand. That was something else nice about being owned by Master and Mistress – they let him use magic, both with his wand and wandless.

The pit in Severus' stomach grew as he cleansed himself, hoping the foul smell was leaving his body. His muscles were still tense. His movements were still clumsy. He, no matter how hard he concentrated, could not stop his hand from shaking. The effects of the Cruciatus were not very concealable ones.

_Master probably intends on taking you tonight. He will not appreciate it if you are shaking under him. But then again, Master Nathan is home, so... no, he is not. Damn. Well, Master Nathan would not have been a Slytherin. Certainly isn't smart enough to-_

He gripped the sides of the tub. No, he could not think badly about Master Nathan. He slapped himself as the burning in his forehead crept on. He _had_ to stop doing that. Master and Mistress would be very angry if they knew what he was thinking.

He unsteadily rose to his feet and performed a quick drying spell. Unfolding the white shirt Master had placed on the counter, he recognized it as the shirt Master had requested he wear when they went to Master's brother's. These were his "good" clothes, as opposed to his everyday clothes. Certainly Master had given him those to wear because the clothes he had been wearing were stained with his bodily fluids and needed quite a few spells to become clean again. Certainly that was it... certainly Master was not taking him out anywhere... he gulped. _Salazar, save me..._

He slipped on the clothes and paused to look at his reflection in the mirror. He rarely had a chance to see his reflection these days, but he saw it more than he had at Master Mering's. Not that he had ever spent much time in the mirror, but it was a surprising thing to see, just the same, his reflection.

His face, if possible, was more pale than usual. Likely that was because of the Cruciatus. His hair badly needed cut - it was an inch or two past his shoulders now, but he did not know if Master and Mistress would like it if he cut it. They might get angry, if they liked it long. Severus knew Master and Mistress using him had nothing to do with how unattractive he was, but that did not change the fact that Master liked to grip Severus' hair when he made Severus pleasure him with his mouth. And Mistress liked to grab Severus by his hair when she was mad. No, he could not perform a trimming spell on it without permission. He settled for a spell that took out the knots, and after consideration, transfigured a loose thread on the rug into a black piece of string to tie his hair back with. He added a quick and simple spell for his teeth that Master Mering had used on him everyday that Severus had kept up even after being sold. It kept his teeth clean and strong. He would be less valuable and be able to pleasure Master less if his teeth were chipped or had fallen out.

Another quick spell rid him of any stubble he had accumulated in the past twenty-four hours or so. He always needed to be clean-shaven, at all times, for Master. Because even though Severus did not know what it felt like to have someone have their face that close to you, he knew people didn't like it when said face had any scratchy stubble on it. So he took special care, like Master Mering had during his training, to make sure he was clean-shaven.

_There_, he thought grimly. _Now whatever Master plans, I cannot say I did not try to look my best, whatever my best may be. _He knew Master would be embarrassed if he took Severus somewhere and Severus looked bad. His owners had an image to keep up, and like it or not, Severus had a part in keeping that image up. He could never humiliate his owners, not after they were so good to him.

_They are not so good to you, or they would not rape you or-_

He slapped himself again - hard. He could not think thoughts like that about his owners! They were _good_ to him, and they did not rape him... he let them, after all. And when Master asked him if he liked it, he always answered "yes"... well, that was because he knew Master wanted him to... no, they did not hurt him. They were doing what they wanted... and that was their job. It was not safe for him to not be free, to make his own decisions. He needed someone else to make his decisions for him. After so many years in the Dark Lord's service, surely his judgement was tampered. It was best just to have owners and obey what they say...

He pushed back any negative thoughts before gripping the round doorknob. _Here goes nothing, _he thought, opening the door and venturing down the hallway and into the dining room.

* * *

The dining room was really not a dining room - it was more like an alcove in the corner of the sitting room. But Master and Mistress called it "the dining room", and who was Severus to argue with them?

He stepped into the dining room and immediately got to his knees, facing Master, who sat alone at the head of the table. "Master, thank you." Severus quivered, his head bowed. What would he have done without Master, had Master not come in there and rescued him? Severus had been Crucioed for longer than four minutes that time - he had never felt the sensation of his body melting before - and could have descended into madness. Master saved him.

"You're welcome, Severus." Master said easily, reaching out petting the top of Severus' forehead in an affectionate way. Not his forehead, which would have felt impossibly good and would have possibly made Severus involuntarily aroused, but the crown of his head. "You must forgive Nathan and the boys - they didn't know what they were doing, I'm sure. When Nathan comes home, I'll be sure to punish him."

"If that is what you wish to do, Master." Severus said quietly, trying to keep his body at still as possible. He did not want Master to get mad at him for trembling - he really could not help it. He would likely be feeling shaky and weak for a day or two now.

Master did not seem to mind though. Instead he stopped petting Severus' head and reached out to grab a glass of champagne, which he took a small sip of. "Get up, Pet, and sit down." He motioned to the chair on his direct left.

Severus hesitated. _Sit down? Sit down at the table? With Master? _He awkwardly stood up and stood behind the chair Master motioned to, holding onto the back of it for support lest his legs get even weaker. "Sit, Master?"

"In the chair." Master nodded.

_What does he want me to sit here for? Like an equal! I'm not his equal! He is so far above me and- _He sat down, sitting up straight, his body tense. There was a plate in front of him. One of the good china plates that the family ate off of. Severus ate off of the chipped and cracked ones in the kitchen. And on the white china plate was an assortment of cooked vegetables, a piece of roast lamb, mashed potatoes, and other food. Judging from the steam rising off of it, it was even hot, something that Severus was not always guaranteed when he ate from the kitchen. After all, he could never eat before Master and Mistress did, lest there not be enough, and reheating spells always took the taste and texture out of food...

With his hands in his lap, he glanced up at Master, who took a bite of his lamb nonchalantly. What was he expected to do? Certainly not...

"You may eat, Severus. I haven't poisoned it." Master chuckled. As if to prove his point, he used his fork to stab a green bean off of Severus' plate. He ate the green bean, winking at Severus.

Severus allowed himself a small shy smile. "I trust you, Master." He said quietly, tentatively picking up the fork and going straight for the green beans, as that was what Master was eating right then. If he just followed Master's lead, eating the meat when Master ate the meat, the starch when Master ate the starch, the vegetables when Master ate the vegetables, he would be all right.

"How are you feeling?" Master inquired.

The question sent Severus off guard. Who was he to have Master inquire about his _health_? "Much better, sir, thank you." Severus said, just as quietly as he had spoken before. He was not supposed to be at the table with Master... he had not sat at a table since he had sat at the head table on September 1st... it all felt wrong.

"Good." Master reached for his glass of champagne. "I had other plans for us tonight, but after considering it, decided that we should stay in. You look to be in no shape to be gallivanting off into London."

Severus mimicked his actions, surprised to find his glass also full of champagne. He had not had anything but water for months - he did his best not to choke down the small sip he took.

"I got another letter from Hogwarts today." Master mentioned casually.

Severus' fork fell to his plate with a clatter, which Severus quickly recovered. Master did not seem to notice though, or at least he pretended not to notice. "_Another_ letter, sir?"

"The headmistress has been writing me weekly since Tina and I purchased you." Master said with an eye roll. "She is always making up various reasons why you should come to Hogwarts, or even why she should come here. 'The Potions Master fell ill and there is no one else to teach', 'the children just want a chance to say goodbye', 'there are some things of his that need sorted through'... her request today took the cake! 'A portrait hole won't open, because he is the only one who knows the password!'". He shook his head. "If she wanted to buy you so badly, why didn't she purchase you? She could have gotten a loan from Gringotts."

Severus did not know what to say to that. Master had heard Minerva tell him that they did not have much money between them... but Minerva had been writing? Every week? It made him stomach clench, the food on his plate much less desirable, though he did not know why. "I do not know, Master."

"Would you like to go to Hogwarts for an afternoon, Severus?" Master asked him seriously, pausing in eating. "If they truly need your help with something, I suppose we could spare you for an afternoon."

Did he want to go? Severus weighed that. Was Master actually offering?

But what good would going to Hogwarts bring him? It would bring back painful reminders of things he was trying to forget; the familiar castle walls, laughter, Potion fumes, the adrenaline one got when duelling (even if it was a incompetent student he was duelling), the respect he got- no, he would not get respect if he returned to Hogwarts. He was a slave, and everyone there knew it. He would more than likely spend his time getting humiliated... and he did not need to remember anything else. If he were at Master Mering's and Master Mering gave him that option, he would likely say "yes", for he had been getting beat and punished at a regular basis at Master Mering's, but he was safe at Master and Mistress'. They never hurt him and...

"Severus?" Master prodded.

"No, sir, I would not like to." Severus found himself saying. If he went to Hogwarts, he would only hurt more when he left. He was a slave, lower than everyone else, he could accept that now. But going back and being reminded of his past life? That would only invoke self-pity in him, and pity in others. He did not need pity.

"Very well." Master seemed pleased. "You're to write the response, Severus, and tell her that you do not want to go. I tried telling her such things, but she does not believe me. Perhaps she'll only believe it from you."

"Yes, Master." Severus said. _Minerva will just think that Master told me to write the letter... which he did... but she will think Master dictated what I say. _And that was not true... he didn't think.

"I'll have to read over it before you send it, of course." Master said. "I trust you, Severus, but I cannot risk her thinking badly of Tina and me. It is important that we keep every good connection we can, and the Headmistress of Hogwarts is a very good connection to have."

"Yes, sir." Severus said, taking a sip of his champagne, once again following Master's lead. Except, whilst Master's right hand held his champagne glass, his left hand...

Severus gasped, spilling a bit of champagne on his shirt. Master chuckled. "Feeling a bit tense?" He squeezed Severus' thigh again from underneath the table.

"I apologise, Master." Severus said, looking down at his plate. "You may punish me, if you-"

"Unfortunately that will have to wait a fortnight." Master chuckled, squeezing Severus' thigh again. "What I had planned for tonight cannot take place after finding you underneath that bloody curse. You would pass out from exhaustion."

"Yes, Master." Severus whispered. "Thank you." He didn't know why he added "thank you", but it felt appropriate. Master could tie, gag, restrain, put Severus into all sorts of ridiculous positions... but he wouldn't.

Because Severus would be too tired.

"Now, about Paris..." Master's hand trailed up and gripped Severus' groin. Nothing showed on Master's face that would make any person observing them think anything out of the ordinary was going on – even though they were alone, apparently Master was enjoying himself, because he could not seem to keep his hand off of Severus.

"Paris, sir?" Severus tried not to gasp. He hated his body's reactions to what Master was doing. He did not enjoy what Master was doing to him in the slightest, though his body suggested otherwise. The enslavement curse made his body react to his owners' touch the way it would a lover's, which was quite unfair.

"Surely you know of Tina's plan to vacate to Paris for a week?" Master waved his wand and cleared the serving dishes away, which were replaced with the cherry pie Severus had seen in the kitchen earlier. "We're leaving on the thirty-first, the day Nathan goes back to school."

_Students at Hogwarts are not returning until the first on the year, which quite conveniently falls on a Friday..._

"Yes, sir." Severus said, resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose up at the cherry pie. He knew that food would be good for him after the violent, exhausting experience he had just suffered, but having spewed the contents of his stomach just a half hour ago, he was not exactly pining to eat more than he already had. But Master put a slice on Severus' plate, so eat it, he must.

"Tina will likely want to brave the snow and go see all her fashion industry friends." Master scoffed, taking a delicate bite of pie.

Severus followed his lead, timing his chews to Master's, trying not to think about that hand that gave him one more squeeze and abandoned him.

"Yes, sir." Severus responded.

"Of course, I have no intentions on going with her all the time, so it'll just be you and me in the hotel, day in and day out." Master looked smug at the prospect, whereas Severus felt as if he were going to sick up. Again.

**Coming soon in _Unwell...  
_Chapter Twenty: _Trop de Pluie_**


	20. Trop de Pluie'

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty  
"_Trop de Pluie_"**

* * *

He paced back and forth in front of the gargoyle. Another thing he had hated about Dumbledore dying was the changes in passwords to various rooms. He used to be able to shout "lemon drops", "ice mice", "Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans minus vomit", "peppermint squares", "peanut brittle", etc., until he guessed the right treat and the portraits or gargoyles let him through. He didn't have a clue what the passwords were when Snape had been Headmaster, as he hadn't even been at school that year, but they were probably something like "Pureblood" - even though Snape was not a Pureblood, he had had a cover to keep.

But what would McGonagall, of all people, make her password? She didn't have any close family members or a Familiar that Harry knew of, she probably hadn't named her Animagus form like his father and his father's friends had... but what else would she make the password? An assortment of random nonsense words? That didn't seem very McGonagall-like.

It was the fourth of January and classes were just resuming at Hogwarts. Harry personally hadn't returned to the school until the day before, as he had spent Christmas at the Weasley's.

He needed a chance to talk to Professor McGonagall before he burst. He had been dying to know if there had been any updates on the Order's mission since Christmas break began on December eighteenth. He knew that there had been a board meeting, and that McGonagall was going to petition to buy Snape. For all Harry knew, Snape could be in the castle right then! It would be a great weight off his shoulders, if that were true.

It wasn't an official Order mission, of course. "The Order" had now broken up, hopefully for good. There were no more regular meetings, heated discussions, etc, for which Harry was grateful. Even though he had never been a part of the Order as a kid, he knew that their meetings had been pretty intense affairs.

No, this mission included Harry, Hermione, the Weasley clan, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and precious few Order members. It involved getting Snape out of slavery, which was apparently a whole lot easier said than done.

When the Aurors had arrested Snape, Harry had been mad. No, he had been _furious_. He had been looking forward to this school year in a way he never had before. This year, there would be no adventures. No Dark Lords. No missions. No horcruxes. No life-or-death rule breaking. It would be what other kids considered "normal".

He also had been looking forward to getting to interact with Snape. Snape had saved Harry's life, Harry had saved Snape's. They were even (though Harry still felt like he owed Snape a little- the man had given up _everything_ to make sure Harry lived). Harry knew Snape would still hate him, but maybe he would soften up at the topic of Harry's mum, who he apparently knew a lot about. And Harry wanted to know everything about her. Sirius and Remus hadn't talked as much about her, because they had known Harry's dad a whole lot better. And who better than someone who claimed to be in love with her?

After Snape had been taken by Aurors, Harry had immediately gotten up from the table and sprinted to the Head table, where McGonagall was already leaving. She had gone up to her office, the trio hot on her heels, and Flooed Kingsley Shacklebolt. Or tried to, at least. He hadn't been in his office, or at home. They sent him an owl. They found out later that he had been at an important meeting with the leader of magical people in Cuba. By the time they got to Snape, it was too late.

Snape had been legally given to a man named Nigel Mering, who, for a living, trained slaves. Apparently he taught them manners, how to behave, etc. He was supposed to be "the best in the business", which was not too comforting a thought, really. Harry had wanted to go into Mering's and bust Snape out, but that would have been illegal.

Snape was stuck in the Death Eater Slave system forever, apparently. Harry didn't understand all the mechanics of it, and didn't care to. All he knew was that someone had been dealt a wrong, and that he would not rest until it was fixed.

The plan had been to go to an auction where Snape would probably be sold and buy him. The plan had seemed fool-proof to Harry; Harry had thousands upon thousands of Galleons (actually, he was not quite sure how much he had. He had been assured though, by Remus before he died, that Harry would never _have_ to know. It was that much.), and he knew Kingsley was relatively wealthy, as far as things went. But the Order had made a big stink when Harry had offered his Galleons to buy Snape. They hadn't wanted Harry to actually go to the auction, which he understood, because knowing Harry Potter was there would only inflate prices, but why couldn't they use his money? Because of Kingsley's stupid shiny head, that said he didn't want Harry to waste his money on something the adults could manage.

_Bullocks_, Harry was an adult and it wouldn't be a waste. But Kingsley had just tuned him out, and the rest of the Order had followed suite. No need to say that McGonagall had had words with Kingsley when buying Snape did not go as planned, and Kingsley was no longer _allowed_ to help rescue Snape.

_Think like A Gryffindor, think like a Gryffindor, _he told himself. He was a Gryffindor. One hundred percent complete Gryffindor. Except he did have a way of manoeuvring that was positively Slytherin about him sometimes... that had apparently been because he was a Horcrux, but Harry was not quite sure. A lot of things about him, all the Dark things, were supposed to be because of that. But Voldemort's piece of soul in him had died many months ago, and he still felt the same. Nothing about him had changed, really.

"Potter, are you going to try to wear a hole in the floor or do you have a reason for being here instead of being in Potions?" Professor McGonagall came up behind Harry, her pointed face stern.

"I wanted to talk to you." Harry said.

"Evidentially." She said. "Is this something we cannot discuss in the halls, or must we go up to my office because I have to teach second-year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins in a moment, and that is a combination that, Merlin forbid, should not be left alone for a moment."

Harry began walking with the busy professor to her Transfiguration classroom. "I was just wondering if you'd made any progress on Snape yet?"

Professor McGonagall stopped and gave Harry a harsh look. "I thought I told you to stay out of it, Potter." She said.

"I'm eighteen. I have every right to know any updates!" Harry pointed out. He was tired of being left in the dark. He had spent far too many years letting Dumbledore keep him in the dark about things. He'd be damned if it happened again.

"Yes, Potter." she sighed, continuing her quick pace. "The board meeting did not go as I had hoped. I presented them an extremely reasonable plan, and they shot the idea down. The only one who voted for it was Lucius Malfoy."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "_Malfoy_?" he sputtered.

"Yes, Potter. Shut your mouth before a fly gets in." McGonagall said, not stopping her pace. "I then wrote another letter and got a response from Severus. He let me know under no uncertain terms that he was fine and wanted to be left alone."

"You mean Snape actually wrote back? Not that Weston bastard?"

McGonagall gave him a glare. "Mr. Weston, Potter. The man has done nothing illegal and is being very negotiable. Yes, Severus wrote back himself."

"And said he didn't want our help?" Harry scoffed. "Sounds like him. So what's the plan? Ron and I have a free period and-"

"I created your class schedule, Potter. You have Potions right now, I know for a fact."

Harry shrugged. "I'm skiving off. Permanently. Hermione is helping me study theory and all that, so I can pass my NEWTs, but I'm not learning _anything_ in that damned classroom."

"Language, Potter."

"So the plan?"

McGonagall turned sharply as she stepped into her Transfiguration class, which silenced immediately as she stepped in. "We will discuss this later, Potter."

"Just a hint? Ron and I could go to the library and look up any-"

"Did you not hear what I told you, Potter?" McGonagall scorned him. "Severus has quite blatantly said that he wanted to be alone."

Harry's jaw dropped. "But you're not _giving up_?"

"What do you expect me to do?" She asked, sounding much like her seventy-three years all of a sudden. "It's a permanent spell, and there is no way we can get his owner to sell him for an amount we could actually afford. The Board of Governors did not accept my petition to buy him, anyhow, even with a well-organised profitable plan."

"We could give him a fair trial!" Harry exclaimed. "We could publish interviews in the Prophet! We could make the Ministry admit they made a mistake to the-"

"The Ministry will never admit such a thing, even with Kingsley Shacklebolt in charge, Potter." She said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a class to teach."

But Harry wasn't about to be deterred. "Could you at least-"

"No, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor! This conversation is over. Now if you will please escort yourself out of my classroom..." She turned to her class and began lecturing them on the subject of Transfiguration, Harry forgotten.

Harry turned and blindly ran through the maze of the halls, up various stairs, around complicated corridors... he knew where he was going. He hadn't lived at Hogwarts for six other years of his life to not know where he was going. Of course, he could always get lost, but that was not going to be too likely. He had spent too many hours consulting the Marauder's Map for that.

He burst into the Gryffindor Common Room, where Ron and several other seventh year boys (who were all a year younger than Ron and himself) were lounging about.

"Ron!" he said harshly, causing the redhead to look up in surprise. "We need to talk."

Ron awkwardly got up from the floor. "What is it?" He said in a low voice. He sounded concerned... worry creased his forehead.

Harry bounded up the steps to their dormitory, Ron following, shooting the other seventh years a warning glance that clearly said "leave us alone and don't think about using Extendable Ears".

Harry flopped down miserably on his bed. "We've got to do something. McGonagall is giving up."

"On Snape?" Ron asked, sitting on the bed beside Harry.

"Yeah." Harry's green eyes were lit with fury as he crossed his arms stubbornly across her chest. "Apparently she got a letter from him that said for us to bugger off, so she's just going to let it be."

"Oh." Ron said awkwardly. "Well... if that's what he wants, then-"

_Has everyone gone mad? _"No! It can't be what he wants!" Harry sat up and starting pacing. "That Weston probably made him write that shit. There's no way Snape - the Snape we know - would ever be happy in a life of slavery. Ever."

Ron was quiet for a moment. "Maybe it's not the Snape we know, Harry."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry fumed. The circumstances Snape was in was so simple to Harry – Snape was in slavery, slavery was wrong, Snape did not deserve that. Pulling him out was their _only_ choice. They couldn't just _leave_ him.

Ron shrugged. "You heard what Dad and George said. He was babbling and scared and-"

"He was under the influence of a sleeping Potion!" Harry cried out. "I know you haven't spent as much time in the Hospital Wing as I have, but you have to know how those things work. You wake up, you're all groggy and you start babbling things you don't mean..."

"But the next day, he wasn't." Ron pointed out. "George and Bill said he was on his knees and chained up and everything and didn't fight it. No glares, no nothing. Well, except for a kind of sarcastic comment, George said. But that's it. Can you imagine the Snape we know willingly get up on a stage and get auctioned off? Cause I sure as hell can't."

Harry shook his head. "He was probably just doing it because he thought we were going to buy him. He wouldn't be sold if he didn't corporate."

"If he wanted us to buy him, he would have made an arse of himself." Ron pointed out. "He would have sold for much less if he hadn't been on his best behaviour."

Ron had a point, Harry had to admit. Snape would have never... "But there's a reason for it, I'm sure. If we could only get a chance to bloody talk to him... and damn McGonagall! The _bloody_ Order! We could have afforded to buy him a thousand times over if we could have just used some of Sirius' money!"

"Your godfather will be spinning in his grave if you use a knut of his money for that!"

"He hasn't got a grave." Harry felt the need to point out.

* * *

"Did you ask her if you could see the letter?" Hermione asked Harry in the library after supper. One of the conditions on working with Hermione was simply trying to get into her busy schedule, as she took many, many classes, rarely had a free period, and when she did, used them to study. "What if there were a lot of ink blots on it? That would be a sign of struggle. Mr. Weston probably did make him write the letter."

"I don't understand why we can't just break down the wards?" Harry moaned, flopping his head on a table in the library, his glasses getting pressed up against his face. "If we've got Kingsley on our side, why can't we just go to Weston's and-"

"Because it would be breaking the law." Hermione said briskly. "We can't just walk in and take Snape. As inhumane as it is, legally Snape is Mr. Weston's property." Her face showed disgust.

"And Mrs. Weston's." Ron added. "Don't forget - they are both registered as his owners." Ron paused a moment. "Hey, I've got an idea!"

"What is it, Ronald?" Hermione sighed. Ron's ideas were few and far in between, and his good ideas were rarer than that.

"Why don't we just offer to buy him ourselves? Behind McGonagall's back, ya'know?" Ron asked. "The Order got all mad when you offered, Harry, but now if they've all given up-"

"He can't do that, Ron." Hermione argued. "His parents and Sirius gave him that money. He needs it."

"Noint." Harry mumbled against the table.

"For goodness sakes, Harry! What'd you say?" Hermione asked, frustrated.

Harry lifted his head up from the table just high enough to speak. "No, I don't." He repeated himself.

Hermione stared at him incredulously. "What do you mean you don't?"

He shrugged. "I don't need it all. I'm going to be an Auror, anyway, and they make loads of money. And I couldn't run out of Sirius' inheritance if I tried - I could buy a million Snapes and still have three times the amount of money that has ever passed through anywhere else in Gringotts." He wasn't bragging - his friends understood that he didn't care about money, though sometimes it made Ron a little jealous.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, that's the last thing we need. A million Snapes. So, if you do buy him, what are you going to do with him, Harry?" His eyes lit up. "Bloody hell, you'd have total control over him then. He'd have to call you 'Master' and-"

"Shut up, Ron!" Hermione flashed back. "He's not going to do no such thing! He'd treat Snape the same way he always did."

Ron chuckled. "Well, Snape'll still have to practically kiss his feet every time he sees him. Isn't revenge sweet?" He sighed dreamily.

"I don't believe you! The man saved Harry's life - he's a war hero! If it weren't for him, we'd probably all be dead!" Hermione shrieked at her boyfriend.

"Well, he was a right git for years, to all of us. I think it would be-"

"You're impossible! How would you feel if-"

"Shut it!" Harry slammed one of the many books on slavery shut. As much research as they did, they could not find a way to undo that slavery spell. It was an ancient one that had been refined, taking out all loopholes. It was purely irreversible, that much was true. "I'm going to go to bed."

"Harry - it's only seven-thirty." Hermione said quietly, nodding towards the large clock on the library wall.

He shrugged. "I don't know - I just need some time to think, 'kay?"

As he trudged back to his room, his mind whirred with thoughts. He did kind of hate Snape... sort of. Ron was right, Snape had been a git for the entire six years he had been Harry's teacher. He had loathed Harry from the moment he laid eyes on him. He had gone out of his way in every lesson, at every interval, to insult Harry, Harry's father and the rest of the Marauder's, to humiliate Harry... but that had just been a cover, right? He didn't really hate Harry. He just had to appear that way to be a spy for the Order...

No. He did hate Harry. He really, really hated Harry. He hated Harry because Harry looked like his dad, really. That was about it, too. It had little to do with Harry's personality, smell, grades, that he was The-Boy-Who-Lived... it was all based on his looks. He doubted it had to do anything with the idea that the whole reason Harry's mum had died was because of Harry - Harry's mum probably would have been killed that night, anyhow.

But just the same, as much as he hated Harry, he had saved his life on several occasions. And if it hadn't been for him, the War could have gone drastically different. Hell, they might have never _made it _to the War. Snape at least deserved a little bit of respect for that... Harry couldn't imagine how much stress Snape must have been under, trying to be a spy and all.

All in all, Harry felt like he _owed_ Snape. Snape had done so much for him, however reluctant, but he had. And now that he was in something much worse than a little jam, much worse than being on a jinxed broomstick... Harry needed to at least _try_ to help him.

_You're bloody Harry Potter, _he realized as he laid in bed with his clothes on and pulling the curtains around him. _Professor McGonagall always makes a big deal about how Weston likes to have connections, how the only reason he's so famous is because he knows so many famous people. Just offer to buy Snape. Say "name your price" - he'll probably sell if it's Harry Potter asking. Not Hogwarts, but Harry Potter._

He rarely liked to make a big deal that he was famous, that the world owed him everything, etc, etc, but it could occasionally come in handy. He opened the curtains to one side of his bed and picked up his book bag. Pulling out some parchment and his inkwell and quill, he thought a moment before he began writing,

_January 4th, 1999  
Harry James Potter  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Dear Mr. Weston,_

He paused. Flattery was likely the best place to start. Flattery, telling Mr. Weston how strongly he admired his... his... Harry looked over to a picture he had kept in a file Hermione had given him, where he also kept copies of newspaper clippings about Snape, copies of Snape's birth certificate and other legal records... anything and everything that had anything to do with Snape and his enslavement.

_How much I admire your moustache? How much I admire you for owning some lame company that I can't even pronounce? _He shook his head.

_I've heard a lot about you, sir. Your work at your company is very astounding. I did a report on it during second-year, actually. We had to do reports on very influential companies and such, and I chose yours. It is quite an honour to be writing you._

He smirked. There was no proof that he hadn't done a report on the man's company. Most teachers gave the essays back to their students with their grade marked on it. Harry had been Incindioing his old essays until halfway into first-year, when Hermione caught him and demanded that he let her file them away. And file them away she did... but he could always lie and say he lost it.

_I hear that you have purchased a new slave named Severus Tobias Snape. It has caused quite a stir around Hogwarts, actually, sir. Snape used to work here as a Potions Master, Defence Teacher, and Headmaster._

Harry paused. Now where was he going with this? He couldn't make it sound like he wanted Snape _too_ badly... but he had to make it out that he wanted to own him bad enough...

He pulled off his glasses and began fiercely rubbing at his green eyes before replacing his glasses. He would get the letter off to Richard Weston that night, even if it took him until three in the morning (it did).

* * *

Severus leaned against the foggy window. The cold transmitted through the glass radiated through his body, causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end. The frigid cold was welcome for his body, as two very non-frigid people laid in the bed behind him, breathing heavily.

"Aah." He heard Master moan. Severus did not bother to turn around. "Don't you ever stop, you damn hedonist?"

"Mmmm..." Came the response from the other person in the bed. "I'm a young male. We're famed for it." The younger man who was no older than eighteen-years-old had a thick French accent and unruly blonde hair. Tanned and muscular, he had stopped in hours ago and had immediately joined Master and Severus for a threesome. Master and the boy were apparently experienced in such matters, and both seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. For Severus, it made the sex just a lot more awkward, leaving him always wonder where to place his leg, his mouth... but then again, Master and the boy consistently paused to take a swig of Firewhiskey, putting them at ease. They had not offered Severus any alcohol, which he could have greatly used.

He leaned as close to the window as he could, taking in every bit of the icy temperature he could in his overheated nude body. He watched people walk down the crowded pavement, avoiding the icy spots. Some people walked dogs on leashes – Severus wished Master would take him out. He hadn't left the hotel room in four days, since they arrived in Paris. Not once. He knew it was quite hapless to be jealous of little terriers, but it was the truth.

He watched as a bicyclist wove her way unsteadily down the icy street, as a constable walked up to a loitering man outside the building across the street, likely to warn him to get a move on. He watched as a young man and woman dashed across the streets, holding each other's gloved hands, laughing wildly. Had he ever been that young, that carefree? He didn't think he had. He had always been old, haggard, and responsible for too much.

The sky was black. The bright city lights did not give the stars any room to shine. That was an abrupt change to his life over the past... he had spent much of his life near Manchester, on Spinners End, or in Scotland, usually the latter. And in Scotland, there were stars. Hundreds of thousands of them, nearly every night. He and Lily... no. He would not think about Lily ever again, but especially not when he had the semen of two men, one whom he did not even know, covering his sweaty and sticky body.

"Severus, come back to bed." Master beckoned from the bed, where the teenager was grinding himself lazily against Master's leg.

"That window is not leaving the _spectateurs_ much room for imagination." The teenager laughed, planting a soppy and no doubt alcohol-induced kiss. He then said something in French that caused Master to laugh, whatever the man had said.

_Damn the French again!_ He thought as he turned from the window and headed back to the bed. _Why did I not take it upon myself to learn French? The language has managed to taunt me ever since this sodding enslavement-_ a tap on the window caused him to sharply turn his head.

A small light brown owl was pecking on the window.

"Master, an owl." Severus motioned to the window, one knee bent on the bed. If Master was going to tell him to ignore it, he had no choice but to, but he would rather go see what the owl had. It was four in the morning in Paris – he would likely be fumbling in bed with the other two men until six, when Mistress came back from wherever she had gone and the boy had to go to his job or school.

"Get it." Master said distractedly as he crawled onto the young French boy.

Severus turned and opened the window, not caring about the freezing gust of wind that hit his bare body, nor about the sight the people on the streets would see if they looked up to see an unclothed man leaning out a window. In his past life, he would have been very conscious and embarrassed of the latter fact and would have not been caught dead as he was currently. But that said, it was a past life.

"Hallo." He said in a soft voice, reaching out with his slender fingers to stroke the owl's soft feathers. "Have you got a letter for Master?"

The owl hopped towards him and bunted it's small cold body under his long hand.

"Where are you from?" He whispered. _It's a bloody owl. It's not as if he can answer you._ But Severus needed conversation – two words to exchange with _someone_. He couldn't explain the urge, but it was an _owl, _so it wasn't likely out of his place to do so. It was not like he was disrespecting it or anything, either. He eyed the note attached to the owl's legs and felt his heart drop into his stomach. He would recognize that handwriting anywhere.

"What the hell are you doing, Severus?" Master shouted from the bed. "Stop trying to heat the whole world!"

"Yes, sir. I apologise, sir." Severus said quickly, picking up the owl and bringing it to his chest in an attempt to warm it before shutting the window. He turned around, fiddling with the letter attached to the owl's leg. It was addressed to Master... Severus had to give it to him, though he wished he could proof-read it before doing that. What on earth would _Potter_ have to say to Master?

"Argh. Don't you ever _quit_?" Master laughed again, grabbing a bottle of Firewhiskey off the bedside cabinet and downing its contents.

"Winners never quit and quitters never win." The young French replied cheekily.

"Yes, but those who never win _or_ quit are numbskulls." Severus muttered, eyeing the letter, stroking the owl, hoping to warm it before he had to sit it down. It had likely had a long flight – it had to be freezing.

Master didn't seem to hear him. "Is it from Tina?" Master asked in between snogging the young boy.

"No, sir. It is from-"

"Then get in bed." Master directed boredly.

"Yes, sir." Severus reluctantly sat the bird down on a dresser across the room. "Don't watch if you don't want to." He whispered, feeling like a foolish child for talking to an owl like that. But then again, owls were very smart and magical creatures. "We have an entire suite to ourselves – you can fly out to the sitting room and see if you cannot find any crackers or leftovers from-"

"Severus!"

"Sorry, sir." Severus turned his attention from the owl and bounded into the bed. As he immediately became entangled in other limbs and began giving pleasure in the ways that each men preferred, his mind was not on his task. It was purely on-

"Richard? Are you home? Where's the slave sleeping? _Lumos_." The room flooded with light as Mistress opened the door and eyed the three tangled men on the bed... letting out an shrill, angry, horrified scream.

**Coming soon in **_**Unwell...  
**_**Chapter Twenty-One: **_**Good Will Always Prevail**_


	21. Good Will Always Prevail

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One  
"Good Will Always Prevail"**

* * *

Her shrill screams vibrated the very walls of the suite. The boring pictures, cheap copies of popular paintings, threatened to fall off the walls. The room seemed to freeze in time. Until Mistress' rage led to her starting to throw things, that was.

People with magical blood were capable of throwing hexes left and right. But often times, in the heat of the moment, wizards and witches often resorted to physical violence. Humans have a need to burn off their anger, magical or otherwise. The major difference? Muggles eventually run out of things to break. With a simple _Accio_ and _Reparo_, magical people can continue expressing their rage non-stop.

The first item thrown, a vase, exploded on the headboard above their heads. A paperweight summoned from the sitting room landed squarely on Severus' knee. He opened his mouth, letting out a silent cry of pain as pain exploded. He did not cry out loud sheerly out of habit. He gasped for breath, half-fumbling and half-falling out of the bed, narrow avoiding getting hit by a fancy wine goblet.

Quickly disentangling his long pale legs from the sheets, he sought refuge beneath the bed. _Damn_. It was positioned much too low to crawl under.

Another voice added to the noise Mistress was making. A squawk, more accurately. The light brown owl was hovering around the window, making loud noises, obviously as desperate to escape as Severus was.

Severus stood up and made a mad grab for the bird, succeeding despite the bird's wildly flapping wings. He clutched the bird to his chest, escaping to the corner of the room, well hidden behind an overstuffed armchair angling out of a corner.

He watched as Mistress continued ranting and raving, throwing things at Master. The French boy had seemed to think that Severus had had a good idea – he was out of the bed, on the opposite side of the room, pulling gaudy robes over his bare body.

Severus could not help but wistfully wish that he was in the same position as the young wizard. He wished that he could get dressed and dash out of the hotel, never having to face Mistress' wrath. But he would have to, because he had no choice.

Mistress had never gotten that angry before, but he could imagine what was going to happen. Whenever his own father had gotten mad, he hurt Severus' mother. Whenever he either got tired of punching her, or she raised her wand against him, Tobias tried to hurt Severus, and unlike his mother, Severus had not had the benefit of having a wand to use in his defence. The same thing, more or less, would happen here, twenty-five years later. Mistress would eventually start harming him, and there was nothing he could do about it, not even raise his hands to protect himself.

"It will be all right." He whispered almost inaudibly to the owl. He told himself he was assuring the owl, not himself. "You will be safe." As soon as he got the chance, he would remove the letter on the bird and let the owl out the window and let her fly back to her master, who would undoubtedly feed her various treats, pet her, and let her know how much she was appreciated, how important she was.

Perhaps someday Master might want Severus in raven form all the time. Then all Severus would have to do is fly. He missed flying. He hadn't transformed into his Animagus form since the first night at Master Mering's, which had been a stupid mistake altogether.

He was not one to babble, nor was he one to offer meaningless words of comfort. But the owl seemed so incredibly terrified by all of the shouting, screaming, and breaking glass.

Severus gave a gasp as a powerful stinging hex was aimed at Master and missed, hitting Severus.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Mistress yelled, repairing the vase and mindlessly throwing it at Master once again. "Cheating! On _me!_ With _men_, no less!" Her eyes were wild with rage, and were quite terrifying. "With a child and- and a _slave_!" she shrieked, pointing at Severus, who blanched without thinking.

"Come, Tina, be reasonable." Master's voice sounded strangely calm for the situation at hand, seeming to finally come out of his shock. He took his wand off the bedside cabinet and summoned his clothes to him. Master had spelled away Severus' clothes and taken away his wand shortly after arriving to the suite, claiming that Severus wouldn't be needing them, as Mistress was liable to be around very little of the time, before chuckling. Master's chuckles always meant that he found something humorous about Severus, but unlike Master Mering's, were not cruel chuckles, but ones of mirth. Master didn't enjoy punishing him, not like his former Master had.

"Reasonable? _Reasonable_?" Mistress' voice got impossibly high-pitched. "You are a disgusting, immoral-"

Severus tuned her out. She did the very same things Master did. She brought men home and betrayed her husband. She used Severus at least three or four times a week alone – and while she really wanted and let Severus do all the work, he was doing it under her orders. And she was not kind to him like Master was. Master never yelled at Severus, whilst Mistress yelled a lot, and punished him much more than Master did. Master sometimes gave Severus treats on random occasions, and gave Severus attention, speaking to him, laughing at his responses... Master called him "pet" sometimes, and treated him special, like he wasn't just any old slave at all, or a Death Eater, but like he was something truly exceptional. He would not listen to her insult Master like she was. He could not defend Master, especially since Mistress had forbade him to speak of their "lovemaking", but it did not mean he had to listen to it.

He looked down and began stroking the owl's soft feathers, Occluding his mind so that he was not really around any longer. He hadn't been doing that as much lately. Master treated him very well, and Mistress almost as well. There was no thoughts to avoid thinking, except for thoughts of his past life, which he still thought about a lot, as much as he hated to.

His mind wandered to how he had been when he first got to Master Mering's. Defiant. Proud. He had been a slave then, too, but now something was different. He was giving into the orders now, but he _had_ to. If he didn't, his owners would be very angry and punish him, and he was not one to bite the hand that fed him.

"_Tu n'es qu'un chien dégoûtant et inutile_!" Mistress was shouting at Master, who now stood very close to her, holding up his hands, trying to calm her down. "_Rien d'autre qu'une ordure. Tu n'es rien pour moi, rien! Je savais que ce mariage était une erreur, je le savais!_"

Master spoke in a low voice. Severus could tell it was French, but he did not try to make out what Master was saying. He could not understand French at all, and besides that, it was none of his business what Master and Mistress said to each other.

"Get. Out." Mistress' words were like venom. "And take your filthy little... sex slave with you. I never want to set eyes on his ugly face again, understand? Never. Get. Out." Her eyes were hard, her wand aimed threateningly at Master. "I will owl you the divorce papers."

"Tina, darling..." Master whinged. "You don't want to do this. The papers... we will both lose any influence we have in society. We were nothing until we married and now-"

"We'll discuss this later. Not now. Now," Mistress took a deep breath. "Get out before I do something I regret."

"Come, Severus. We're leaving." Master's voice was flat.

Severus, not letting the owl out of his arms, crawled out from his hiding spot and went over to Master, head bowed. Mistress was angry at him - her eyes held nothing but hatred in them as she stared at Severus. He bit his lip as he passed her and followed Master into the hotel hall, exactly five paces behind him.

"Master?" Severus inquired quietly.

"What?" Master snapped, whirling around to face Severus. He realized the problem right away, waved his wand, and Severus' clothes appeared suddenly back on Severus' body, wrinkled, but aside from that, none worse for the wear. Severus discovered his wand was stuck in the pocket of his trousers, which could store plenty of things due to sizing charms. One could likely fit a house in their trousers, if they wanted to, and no one would notice.

"Thank you, Master." Severus said. He had hated to interrupt Master like that, especially when Severus was supposed to never broach conversation himself, but they were in a public place. Slave or not, it was purely improper to be unclothed in public. Period.

He followed Master out the hotel lobby, gasping as he stepped out onto the icy side walk. He had not worn shoes in months, but that had been all right at Master and Mistress', for he had left the house only three times in those months. But now it was cold outside, snowing even. His feet would not last long in the snow, even with warming charms he could apply, which he promptly did.

"Grab a hold." Master said firmly.

Severus did not hesitate, but walked the space between himself and Master and gripped Master's arm. Master closed his eyes and Severus felt the melting feeling associated with Apparating. Not painful at all, like the Cruciatus had been, but just melting... it had upset more than one wizard's stomach more than once, especially side-along Apparation, but Severus had had seen and done enough in his life to not sick up at much any longer. Besides, he had not much in his stomach except a few dry crackers, water, and Master and the French boy's seed, the first two he had certainly burned off in the long hours he had spent fumbling about the bed.

They Apparated outside a lowbrow motel, near the ocean. It felt warm outside. Severus could tell it was near the ocean because he could smell the salt water, though he could not hear the roar of the ocean. Ocean water had a distinct smell to it, one he liked.

The motel looked run-down, but Severus had a feeling Master had not Apparated here for the motel. No, he had Apparated there for the Muggle pub which sat next door, that much was obvious from the way Master kept glancing at the pub and back to Severus.

Master fished in the pockets of his trousers and pulled out a small sack of Galleons. "Rent us a room for the night. Get one key, go up to the room and stay there. If you need anything, just ask the staff. Don't refer to me as 'Master' or they'll have to call their Muggle authorities. Apparently slavery is illegal in the Muggle world, for what idiotic reasons, I haven't a clue." He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Severus.

"Yes, sir." Severus said quietly. He could not help but wish he was a Muggle. Then he would not be a slave. Was he willing to give up his magic for freedom? No. He really did not care about freedom, really. He had never had it.

* * *

Master had apparently not thought his plan through carefully enough. The motel was indeed a Muggle motel and would not accept Galleons, even though they were gold. Severus managed glamour them to look like Muggle money, but he had no clue if the glamour would hold. He could only hope. Charms had not been his best subject.

It was very late in the morning by the time Master arrived back to the motel. Where they had Apparated to was very likely in another country, as the people at the front desk spoke a language Severus had never heard before, but he did not go through the effort of trying to figure out where. He had more important things to worry about. Master was out, likely drinking himself into oblivion. That would be horrible for Master's health, and in turn, Severus'.

When Master finally stumbled through the door to their small room, he looked around blearily and more or less collapsed on the bed, practically unconscious.

"Master?" Severus whispered. The man was either out or not feeling like answering him.

Severus bent over the bed and turned the man over. He positively reeked of alcohol and sex. Not that Severus did not smell of the latter, of course, but he did not smell as strongly of it as Master, as it had been hours ago when he last had it. Master had likely hooked up with a Muggle at the pub, which he was probably lucky to have done, seeing is how Master hadn't gotten to the pub until four in the morning, in Paris time, anyhow.

He bent down and began carefully untying Masters shoes. He could have used magic, but it was not worth it. The enslavement curse might think, if he pointed his wand at his master, that he intended to do damage. He slipped off Master's shoes and socks, put the socks in the shoes, and tucked the shoes beside the bed.

He then turned to the owl, which was standing on the small table, looking ruffled. "I suppose it is time for you to go now." Severus said with a sigh. "I am sorry I took you so far." To be honest, he was not exactly thrilled that he had to let the owl go. The owl was someone he had been able to talk to and vent to for hours, something he had not had the liberty of doing in... years, really. The last time he had been able to truly vent his frustrations to someone had been when he went to Albus Dumbledore to work for the Light. That had truly been the last time. Whenever he had tried to use Dumbledore to release pent up frustrations after that, the older man had merely brushed Severus' frustrations aside, as if they hadn't been important.

Severus untied the letter on the owl's leg and opened the window. "There - have a nice flight." He said flatly.

The owl just looked at Severus, but did not fly away.

"What?" Severus sneered. "Would you like me to feed you? Pay you? Well, I apologize, but I haven't anything. Nothing to feed you and no money to-" he stopped. He did have the Galleons Master gave him to pay for their room. Severus hadn't needed much of the sack's contents at all.

He brought the sack over the the owl. "Here, take this. It's a lot, but this is the only way you're going to be able to-" He said, attempting to tie the sack to the owl. But when he did, the owl just bit him. Hard.

Severus sighed. "What do you want? I have not any food for Master when he wakes, or for myself. I cannot possibly feed- fine. Stay here. Do not let me stop you."

As he turned around and laid down on the floor, next to Master's bed, he fervently wished for a Hangover Potion. Master was going to need it when he woke up. Perhaps Master and Mistress would make up soon - Severus had banished several types of bugs, mould, and vermin out of the motel room when he got there, but there was likely still more. Master would not like it if he knew how filthy his motel room was.

The owl hooted, flying on top of Severus and gently nipping his ear. "What?" He asked, in an exasperated whisper.

The owl flew over to the bedside table, where motel stationary was lying out, then back to Severus, then back to the bedside table.

"You want me to write back to Potter?" Severus asked. That was likely what the owl wanted - she had probably been told not to leave until she had a response.

"Master would probably like to be the one to write back." Severus said. "The letter is addressed to Master." But then again, Master would not have to proofread this letter. He never had to know that the owl had been demanded return-service. Severus could respond however he liked to Potter... but he could not. Master would be angry if he knew. It was wrong to do things like that behind Master's back. And Severus did not have a reason to write to Potter. He was happy in his situation and did not fancy getting "rescued".

Really.

* * *

Harry hadn't gotten any sleep that night. Not a wink. He had stayed up too late writing the letter to Weston, re-writing it, sneaking up to the Owlry to send it, chickening out and going back to his dorm to re-write it, and so on. He hadn't sent it until about two. Then he had paced back and forth in the Owlry for hours, hoping that maybe Weston was a night-owl and would respond as soon as possible. Then he gave up and collapsed on the Common Room sofa, where he had sat, watching the flames dance, for hours.

"Don't lie to me, Harry." Hermione rolled her eyes as they took their seats at breakfast. "You had a rough night. What happened?"

"You probably slept too much." Ron advised, filling his mouth with poached eggs. "Percy used to sleep all the time, and Mum said that sleeping too much is just as bad as not sleeping at all."

Harry shook his head, poking his fork at his sausage, but not feeling hungry enough to actually eat it. He didn't even really know how to explain to his friends, how to talk to them about how he felt. He had tried to over the summer, but he had given it up as a bad job in the end. The truth was, was that he was so curious about Snape now. He hadn't thought so much about the man prior to the end of sixth-year. He had just seen him as an evil vindictive bastard. But now, now that he knew so much about Snape's past... Snape seemed _human_. He wasn't an evil vindictive bastard; he was... well, all right. Anyone who threatened to poison a first-year's toad was a vindictive bastard, but he wasn't _evil_. He was _human_. The man had thoughts, had emotions, had passions, had hobbies, had a past... and Harry wanted to know them. Snape had played a big part in Harry's past, Harry had come to realise. And everyone who had played a big part in Harry's past was dead now, for the most part... except for Snape. And as much as Snape hated Harry, Harry wanted to _know_.

He didn't know how to explain that to his friends, though. They'd think he'd finally went round the twist. No, he was better off pretending he hadn't. "I just have a lot on my mind." He said.

Hermione smiled sympathetically. "We'll fix it, Harry. We _will_. I am thinking about changing the name of S.P.E.W, but face it - S.P.E.W is so catchy. We need to replaced the 'E' with another vowel. 'E' could stand for 'enslaved', I suppose." she began neatly cutting up her waffles. "I sent a letter to the Ministry this morning, asking them to revise their laws on slavery to make them more humane. I am going to start asking the other students to send the letters, as well. Do you think a petition would make much of a difference? If we could get all the students and their families to sign it, then perhaps the Ministry will-"

"Given up on freeing the enslaved altogether?" Ron raised a brow, swallowing his muffin before he continued. "Seriously, 'Mione - I thought the day would never come."

She made a face. "We need to start with slower steps. I kept trying to induce big changes all at one time. That was a mistake on my part, I'll admit it. If we induce the changes slowly over the course of several years before outlawing slavery, things will go more smoothly. We can't expect to change everyone's views on a subject overnight. And besides, Professor Snape cannot be freed. The spell on him is irreversible."

Harry would let her do whatever she wanted to do. He thought slavery was wrong, sure, but it wasn't where his main concern lied. Snape was not where he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be at the Head table, overhearing every word every student said, shooting glares in the back of Harry's head, and then go down to his Potions classroom, taking away more points from Gryffindor in one sitting than most professors took away in six months. He didn't really care what the laws said, as long as the law made Snape the exception. Or even, just gave Snape to Harry or another Order member.

Well, not just any other Order member. McGonagall and Kingsley had proven to be epic failures as far as they went. Harry had seriously considered affixing a sign that said 'traitor' or 'giver-uper' to the back of Kingsley's shiny head, but had thought better of it when he thought of all the Auror and combat training Kingsley had been through. Nah, Harry was useless to the Order now that he had killed Voldemort - Kingsley wouldn't be beyond sending Harry to Azkaban for misconduct towards a Ministry official, probably. And even though Harry was starting to wonder what his aim in life really was, he knew with every fibre in him that Azkaban wasn't it. He had seen what it had done to his godfather and didn't wish that on anyone. Except for maybe the really bad guys.

"Harry, are you listening?" Hermione elbowed him. "What do you think? Should we give Rita Skeeter an exclusive interview, or no? I don't think Xenoaphillus Lovegood is someone I trust at all any longer, but we could probably get the Prophet to print it word-for-word, if we tried hard enough."

Harry shook his head. He was starting to get a really bad headache, but he wasn't about to go up to the infirmary and ask Madame Pomfrey for a headache draught. And even though he had learned how to brew one in fourth-year, he had no clue how to make one. He botched nearly every Potion he touched. Except for in sixth-year, when he had had the Prince's book...

He flushed and began stirring his food around on his plate. He had had so much on his mind that sometimes he forgot about the whole Prince thing. And to think that Harry had really thought the Prince was someone really intriguing, brilliant, and wonderful... Harry had even entertained thoughts that if the Prince was younger and his age, Harry would even go gay for him... and he turned out to be Snape, of all people. Thank Merlin he had never shared those fantasies with anyone or he'd never live it down.

Snape was intriguing and brilliant, not wonderful, but wonderfully intriguing and brilliant. And as for the lustful thoughts... Harry had been _sixteen_. Practically an infant. What had he known then about sex, and birds, and blokes, and... nothing. He had known nothing. They were just ludicrous thoughts, nothing to be ashamed of. Every teenager had them, right? And how was he supposed to know that the Prince was really his Professor?

"Harry, you've got to use words or I won't know what direction to go in!" Hermione sighed. "Honestly, sometimes I think Ronald is rubbing off on you too much."

"Hey!" Ron protested, eggs flying out of his mouth and landing in Hermione's bushy hair.

As his friends began to squabble, Harry returned to his thoughts. No matter how he had felt about Snape, on purpose or accidentally, the man needed rescued. And it seemed it was going to be a small army, to rescue him.

The Weasleys made nine - no, eight - he still sometimes counted them as nine, forgetting that Fred was no longer with them. Eight, plus Luna and Neville, plus Harry and Hermione, that made twelve. Twelve. Twelve people to rescue Snape. Twelve people against the Ministry, laws as old as Merlin, and the rest of the world. A measly twelve. But if he had learned one thing whilst fighting for the Light, was that numbers were not always the important thing. It was that the Light and good always won, always. Sometimes the end was not in sight, and sometimes you died trying, but in the end, good would always prevail. And in this context, good would mean Snape getting out of the hands of Weston and into the hands of someone good.

_Good will always prevail, _he told himself. _Always_.

**Coming soon in _Unwell...  
_Chapter Twenty-Two: _Misery_**


	22. Misery

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
"Misery"**

* * *

Misery. Misery was not being owned by another person. Misery was not getting punished. Misery was not being humiliated. Misery was not being hungry. Misery was not being stuck inside day in and day out. Misery was not getting hung upside down by your arch-enemy. Misery was not losing your love to your arch-enemy. Misery was not knowing that you are responsible for the death of the love of your life. Misery was not teaching Hufflepuff Potions. Misery was not a severe bout with the flu, your body resistant to the potions to cure it. Misery was not playing the part of a spy two ways. Misery was not being alone. Misery was not not having anyone to talk to. Misery was not whatever normal people thought to be Misery.

No, Misery was being useless. Misery was have nothing to do. Misery was having no way to use your brain. Misery was just sitting, in a corner, for hours at a time, with nothing to do. Misery was knowing that you were the one responsible for not only your Misery, but someone else's Misery.

The past two weeks had been exactly the same for Severus. Master would get up at about three o'clock in the afternoon, very sick after drinking so much. After coaxing various potions down the man's throat, Severus would be left alone, whilst Master went wherever he went. Severus then cleaned up what vomit had escaped from Master's throat while sick, spelled clean all of the bedsheets and the bathroom, made the bed with the blankets folded back and a warming charm at the foot of it, and sent the light brown owl away with an order for more Hangover Potion. Then Severus sat in the left corner of the room, between the bed and the wall, and just waited for Master to come back, which was usually not until very early in the morning, before dawn.

Plastered, Master would collapse in bed. Severus would take off Master's shoes, change Master's clothes (as Master had invested in a few other pairs of clothing), and cover him up. Master brought in, most of the time, food from a pub with him. Severus would use a reheating spell on it if he were not too tired, and eat it. Then he would go back into his corner and go back to sleep, only to repeat the process in a few hours.

The owl stayed. Severus hadn't exchanged any words at all with Master in two weeks, so he hadn't gotten a chance to ask him about the reply. But the next afternoon, when Master woke up, Severus would. It was not that he did not like having the owl around – he did, as it was not only the only owl to have ever liked him, but it was company – but Master needed to know about the letter. It made Severus feel bad to have the letter and to have Master not open it. It felt dishonest. Severus could be dishonest to anyone and not feel guilty, but this was _Master_.

Severus could only imagine where Master went in the evenings he was out. Severus knew he always ended up at a pub somewhere. If not the one next door, one somewhere else. Sometimes he suspected Master went to England or Paris, likely spur the moment. Sometimes Severus could tell he had had sex, though with a man or woman, Severus had no clue. Severus' sense of smell was a very good one, and combined with the facts that he had come very familiar with the scent of sex and that Severus was the one to put Master in his pyjamas every night, he knew. He always knew.

However, he did not say anything.

Master was not using him. At all. He hadn't laid a finger on Severus since four in the morning, on the fifth of January, two weeks ago. The night of the threesome.

Severus did not know how he felt about it, though Merlin knew he spent a lot of time dwelling on it. He couldn't say he missed being tied up, gagged up, etc. He could not say he hated it, because Master always told Severus that Severus enjoyed it, but Severus thought that maybe he secretly did hate it, deep down inside. He knew he hated it when Master Mering did it to him... of course, he hadn't used bondage, but Severus hated bondage. Master always said that Severus liked being touched and used. He never said anything about the get-up, the pain, the plugs, the clamps, the humiliation.

But Severus did not care about humiliation any longer. He did not even really remember what it was. He could remember that people blushed when they were embarrassed, that they were self-conscious, that they wanted to disappear... but he could not remember what that felt like. He had not been humiliated in a long time. Or had he, and he just did not notice it any longer? He could not remember.

His thoughts were very scattered of late. Sometimes he could not figure out the simplest of human emotion. He tried to put words to what he was feeling, but gave it up as a bad job. It was too hard.

_Too hard._ He knew that in his past life, he would have never said anything was "too hard". But then again, he thought about his past life less and less. Whoever he had been in his past life had been a different person. Whenever he did think of his memories, it was as if viewing them in a Pensieve. He could see himself sweeping in a room, sneering at people, saying highly intelligent things, and people respecting him, but it was all fuzzy in his mind. It just did not make sense. That was him? It did not feel like him. Could he have possibly really said that, thought that, did that? He simply did not know what to make of his memories any longer. So he tried to forget them. The memories before September 2nd, 1998, did not matter any longer, anyhow.

His stomach rumbled and he thought numbly about going into the bathroom and cupping water with his hands out of the sink to fill his stomach until Master got home. But it did not feel worth the effort. Even though Severus did not do much each day, he felt so tired, all the time. He did not know why, either, but it did not concern him. Not much did.

Master did. Master concerned him greatly. Master was not sleeping enough, and likely not eating enough. Getting drunk every evening was bad for him. Shagging every night, without proper protection, was bad for him. Whenever Master had used Severus, he had made him take a potion that Severus had had made every student in fifth year and above brew and keep in their own private stores. It was a potion to prevent diseases and such from being spread. Magic could do little or nothing to cure sexually transmitted diseases once one had them, but it could prevent them from being transferred either way.

Severus had a feeling Master was not using said potion, because where would Master get it at in wherever they were? Severus was the one sending for the Hangover Potions, using the sack of Galleons Master had given him to pay for it.

Master had started paying for the motel bill himself, with Muggle money. Or at least, Severus assumed he was. He also suspected use of some various spells on the people in the motel, letting them stay there for free... but Severus was not sure. And it was Master. Master was right. He was always right. Severus was not one to question him.

He heard footsteps outside the hall. Severus stumbled to his feet. He usually opened the door for Master, even though Master had his own key. Master was usually too drunk to succeed in opening the Muggle lock himself, and besides, it was Severus' duty to do whatever he could for Master.

But that night, Master opened the door before Severus could get to the door. Severus was puzzled by the perfectly alert look in Master's eyes, but did not question it out loud. He simply got on his knees and bowed.

"Master." He greeted his owner.

"Go stand against the wall." Master directed, putting the take-out food on the table which, by Severus' sense of smell, smelled Indian. And fresh and warm. Master had gotten it and immediately Apparated back. Severus didn't know what that meant. Did it mean anything?

Severus stood against the wall, straight, his back pressed up to the wall. Master had done the same thing to him a week ago, so this time he knew what to expect.

Master walked over to him and waved his wand, stripping Severus of his clothes easily.

Severus did not argue, try to cover himself, or feel any shame... the thought to did not even occur to him. In his mind, Master was to do whatever Master wished to do. If Master wanted to do that, so be it.

"Don't speak. Stand still." Master directed, uttering a spell under his breath, a spell that, once again, Severus had never heard of before the previous week. That was more common than one might think. There were spells all over the world. The spells taught in schools were usually old spells, of Latin origin, used universally. But some countries, some old countries, had spells in their native languages that were not taught in schools. There were thousands upon thousands spells in the world. One could not possibly learn them all.

Severus could not help but feel nervous as his feet started to glow blue as Master ran his wand up against the length of Severus' body, his wand exactly a foot from Severus' body. The higher up Master went, the more of Severus glowed blue, until Master went past Severus' head. The glow immediately disappeared.

Severus did not feel any different. The glow hadn't felt like anything. Not a burn, a tingle, not cold, nor hot. He would not have even noticed had he not been looking. But Master seemed to know what he was doing, as he consulted a piece of parchment he was holding.

"Fine. Good." Master muttered. He waved his wand and the clothes spelled back on Severus. "You can... just whatever. You don't need to stand there."

Severus relaxed and took a step away from the wall. "Master? This owl. It has been here for two weeks. It has a letter for you from Harry Potter and will not leave until you respond."

"Well, I don't really care." Master said, distractedly, running his hand through his hair.

Severus had no doubt of that. Master was usually so carefully groomed, but his hair was starting to show grey hairs. He had not shaved in two weeks, the curly moustache gone. Master had likely not even used a cleansing spell on his teeth, much less actually brushed his teeth. That was evident by the odour and colour of the once pure white teeth.

"I thought that you could dictate a letter?" Severus tried, taking a pen and paper from the bedside table. He had grown up with Muggle writing utensils, so he knew how to use the odd contraption that had ink coming out of it, without having to dip it into ink. It reminded him of a Blood Quill, actually.

"Just tell him that I'm not interested." Master said. "Before you write it, eat this food. And shower."

"Yes, sir." Severus said, sitting the pen and paper back down and bowing his head. He hesitated before taking a chance. "Master? Are... are you all right?" He cursed himself for asking such a stupid question. Of course Master was not all right. His marriage was in shambles, and his life, as well.

"What? Oh, yes. Fine, just fine. Now, go shower."

"Yes, sir." Severus said, a nervous feeling in his stomach becoming very large. Something was going to happen, and whatever it was, it likely was not good. It was never good if he was involved.

* * *

Severus' hand quivered as he positioned the pen over the paper. He had had a unique grip for years, gripping the quill. It was, in all likelihood, the reason his handwriting was so cramped and shaky for years. He had always known he held his writing utensil different than everyone else, but it had never bothered him, and no one had ever questioned him on it.

Until Mistress. Mistress had insisted on the first day that he hold his quill properly. He knew how, but he had just never done it. It was not getting any easier to write that way, but he was still trying. Mistress owned him, still, and he still had to strive to obey her, even though he had not seen her in a fortnight, and she had stated that she did not want to see his ugly face again.

_Dear_- he stopped writing. How was he supposed to address the letter? Mr. Potter, as he would have in his past life? Probably. Master would likely say that. And the letter was supposed to be from Master, right?

He sighed, reaching for the fork in the take-out container. Indian food had a tendency to make his stomach upset, but Master bought it for him. He was to be grateful and eat it, not complaining.

However, a knock on the door caused him to stop and get up from his chair to head to the door.

"I've got it," Master said, coming out of the loo. "You sit down, eat, and compose that fucking letter. The last thing I need is for an owl to be following me around for the rest of my life."

Severus nodded. "Yes, sir." Master almost never swore, except for when he was using Severus. When he used Severus, he used a lot of words that you could not say in polite company. Perhaps Master was getting ready to use Severus? That was likely why he told Severus to shower.

Master opened the door to a burly man at least half a foot taller than Severus, and at least three times his weight. He looked very strong, if not rather fat. He was holding a very large chain in one hand, and a rather thick looking wand in another.

"Are you Mr. Weston?" The man asked. The man was from the States, that much was obvious. His accent was one of southern origin, and sounded quite nasal.

Master nodded. "Yes, come in." He stepped aside, letting the man enter.

The man's attention turned to Severus, who quickly looked to his lap. He did not want to get caught staring, but he could not just resume eating and writing. That would not give proper respect, ignoring the man like that. But he could not initiate a "hello" of sorts. It was best to just bow his head in respect.

"He's on the scrawny side." The man observed, stroking his bushy beard. "Master won't be pleased."

Severus' ears twitched. _Master_? That man had a Master? That did not make him feel as imposing.

"He's fed well. It's just the way he is, I'm afraid." Master said, shaking his head. "He's really smart, though, and-"

The man scoffed. "Master don't care if he's dumber than a pole stick."

Master just nodded. "Severus, go back to finishing the letter. And for Merlin's sake, _eat_."

"Yes, sir," Severus said, taking a bite of the food, trying his best to swallow. Why would the other man's master care if Severus was skinny or smart? Why would Severus be any of his concern?

"I'm willing to take no less than 30,000 Galleons, your master understands?" Master asked the man.

"Of course." The man held a rather large sack. "Master is prepared to offer you it for his little whore." He glanced over at Severus. "Though I don't see what the big deal is. He ain't exactly a model."

"He's very good in bed. Very responsive. Very sensitive – arousing him is easy, if you care to play it that way." Master said. "He does exactly what you say and has just the right amount of resistance. I do believe I already told your master all of this."

Severus bit his lip. He did not know why it bothered him to have Master speak of him that way. It was true, he supposed, at least about the arousal part. But he could not help that. Master was able to touch his forehead and then touch him until he got hard. He could not help that and hated it. Master said it was because he liked it, though... and the rest of it, Severus had not done until Master Mering told him to. He had said no one wanted to fuck a corpse, and to make the right noises, but not too much.

Severus tried. It was not so much of a conscious thing any longer... but he did not appreciate being called anyone's whore. Especially anyone but Master's and Mistress'...

It hit him. He was being sold. _Sold_. Master was _selling_ him.

His heart started to beat faster than was healthy. When he had been sold to Master and Mistress, he had assumed that he would never be sold again. Most slaves were not sold more than once in a lifetime. Most people did not buy slaves just to sell them, and if they did, it was years later. _Years_. Severus had not been Master's for much more than three months.

"He's thirty-nine and in excellent health. I ran another scan on him just moments ago. There isn't a thing wrong with him," Master continued to inform the other man.

Severus was thirty-nine. His birthday, January 9th, had came and went. Severus hadn't even noticed.

"I'm sure Master won't care." the man said with a shrug. "Master'll use anything that breathes - and some that don't." the man chuckled. "And some of those things don't breathe afterwards. You don't wanna know how many corpses I've had to-"

Master held up his hand. "I'm sure I do not want to know."

"Oh, sorry, sir, I just-"

Master just nodded. "Would you like to make the arrangements elsewhere?"

The man nodded. "It just ain't done to discuss it in front of the slave, I get ya." He smiled. "I'm not just a slave though, mind you, sir. I'm practically a free man. I just run Master's business and do his bidding."

Master nodded, opening the door. "Severus, finish the letter and that food had better be _gone_ by the time I get back. Get your hair brushed out. gather up your good set of clothing and your wand after that."

"Yes, sir." Severus croaked, unaware of the swelling in his throat.

Master left, leaving Severus to stare at the door in shock.

Master. Was. Selling. Him. To a person who was... not like Master and Mistress, who had sex with him a lot. It was not like being sold to a brothel. It was _death_. And Master knew and didn't care. Severus knew he was just property, but...

There was no buts. He was property, and Master was simply washing his hands of him. Severus had wrecked Master's marriage, and he probably did not want to see his ugly face or body any more than Mistress wanted to. He was likely selling him to the other man's master as a last resort, next to using the Killing Curse.

Severus was unaware of how hard he was biting his lip until he tasted blood in his mouth. He sucked the lip into his mouth to keep the blood from splattering all over the parchment...

_The parchment. Potter. That's it._ He still had to finish the letter. He could... did he dare?

He hesitated a moment before nodding to himself, taking a bite of the food, and writing an upper-case 'M', lower-case 'R', followed by a period. Then he wrote a lower-case 'P'...

* * *

Master came back forty-five minutes later with the burly man.

Severus had his other pair of clothes folded, his wand in his pocket. The Indian food was eaten and the container disposed of, the letter sent with the owl. Severus was sitting on his knees, his head bowed.

"So, I'll just take him now," The man said, taking the chain from off his shoulder and going over to Severus. "Stand up, whore." He grabbed Severus by Severus' shirt and effortlessly lifted Severus to his feet.

Severus took a deep breath and fought back the tears in his eyes. He knew he was not supposed to do this but couldn't help it.

"Master, please don't sell me," He pleaded, looking at his Master, who was across the room. "Please. I do not know what I did wrong, but I promise, I will never do it again. You can punish me over and over every day if you want. Use me all the time. I will please you, I will... _please_." He was vaguely, extremely vaguely aware that he was begging. But when did he not beg? Begging was a way of life, the key the survival.

"I will make you happy. I will make sure you always have good meals to eat and that your house is always clean. I will make sure you are happy, I promise. I will make myself scarce when you do not want to see me - I will wear a mask or take a Polyjuice Potion. I will-"

"Shut. Up," Master said crisply. "Get out of my sight." He nodded to the burly man, who was looking at Master with an eyebrow raised. The burly man clipped the heavy chain to Severus collar.

"Master, please!" Severus tried. "I will do anything! _Anything_! I'm... I'm your pet, remember? Please do not sell me, Master, please!" He hesitated. "Or sell me, but to anyone else, sir! To another person, to a brothel... anyone! Please, sir!" The burning on Severus' head intensified - he hadn't even realized it was there. It had likely started when he wrote the letter, as the burning in his forehead worked off of his conscience as well as his owner's orders... he was starting to not even realize when it happened until it got really bad.

"Shut it. You heard his orders." The big man kneed Severus in the stomach, making Severus grasp his stomach in reflex, choking back his tears, falling to the ground as the wind was taken out of him.

"Please." He rasped, looking up at Master desperately. Master would take care of him. Master always did. Master could have hurt Severus in many ways, over and over, but he never did it unless Severus was bad. Master was good to him. Severus _trusted_ him.

"Fine, have it your way." The man scoffed, tugging on the chain. "You can crawl, but I don't think the Muggles are gonna understand." He grabbed Severus by the collar and pulled him to his feet again. Severus felt like his knees were not going to hold him up, but somehow he managed to be able to stand as the burly man led Severus out of the room on a leash.

* * *

It seemed that he would never receive a response from Weston. Never ever. He had tried to tell himself that 'no news is good news' but quickly realised how ridiculous that statement was. That wasn't true - what if Weston had killed the owl and buried it alongside Snape? But on the contrary, "no news is bad news" was just as ridiculous, because perhaps the owl just got lost... it would be better to say "no news is no news", but that was just so stupidly obvious it didn't even need said.

He couldn't tell if the owl had returned to the school. He had sent a light brown owl, but there were _a lot_ of light brown owls in the Owlery. For all he knew, the owl had returned forever ago. He had told the owl to not come back without a reply, but owls weren't slaves - they could break the rules.

Hermione had been working feverishly hard on her efforts on the Society for the Promotion of Enslaved Welfare. She had sent long letters to the Ministry every day, had started a petition which had actually gotten quite a few signatures (though that was no doubt because the signers were Muggleborns, wanting to get on her good side since she was friends with Harry, or just felt sorry for Snape). Harry didn't think the 200 signatures the petition had received would do much good, but he didn't say anything, because Hermione was _trying_, at least. He wouldn't do anything to discourage anyone from doing anything that could help.

The thirteen people (Harry had forgotten about Fleur) who were actually trying to do something to help had pretty much set themselves up positions. Luna used whatever connections she had to writers, publishers, and influential people to help. Unfortunately, those people usually lived in the country of Yakima, which didn't exist. Hermione couldn't prove that it didn't exist, just that it wasn't on the map, so Luna continued to ignored her on the subject.

Neville was still quite scared of Snape, but had begun to toughen up a little now that the man was just a memory. He was apprenticing at a greenhouse in Hogsmeade. He currently had the petition, and was trying to get customers to sign it. Next, it would go to George, who would do the same thing.

Percy and Mr. Weasley used their connections at the Ministry to try to change things, but it was slow going. They were just brushed off. But they were Gryffindors, and Gryffindors didn't just give up.

Mrs. Weasley and Fleur spent quite a bit time making warm hats, gloves, scarves, and baked goods, sending them to households that had slaves living in them, addressed to the slaves, even if the slaves were Death Eaters. Mrs. Weasley kept saying that regardless of how they got into the situation, if it were one of her children, she would want someone else to do the same thing. Everyone knew that she was thinking about Percy, who had almost fallen into Voldemort's clutches by being a total prick, but no one said it. In the Weasley family, you forgave and forgot.

Hermione, being the highly political person she was, made plans. Every other evening, she drew up a large plan and assigned people to certain tasks. Usually, the hardest part of the work fell on her, but she didn't mind it, Harry knew. Hermione had to have something to work on, to concentrate on, or she'd go mad. True enough, her practical efforts didn't always work and they were making very little if any progress, but she was determined. They all were. They wouldn't give up.

Ron and Ginny were currently acting like cheerleaders, as well as talking to every student they possibly could about changing things. Changing the slavery law to be more humane, changing the slavery law so that it was illegal, or even just talking them into treating their family's slaves better. They had no way of knowing if it worked, but the way Ginny had put it 'it is out of our hands at that point. At least we don't have not talking to them weighing on our consciences'.

Harry felt like he was being absolutely useless. He had written a damn letter to Weston, big deal. That was it. He had a load of money, that was the only thing he could do to change things. He wasn't smart like Hermione, he didn't have a special status in the Ministry... he was just Harry. 'The-Saviour-Of-The-World' or not, he felt like his purpose in life had almost disappeared... he had been given a huge purpose when he was eleven, and now it was gone. That was another reason he wanted to help Snape - it was something to _do_ - but he felt like he wasn't doing much.

"Hush, Ronald - I'm trying to study." Hermione hissed, looking down at her notebook.

Harry looked at his red-headed friend and shrugged. Hermione was always studying for something, true enough, only this wasn't school work. It wasn't for Charms, Potions, or the NEWTs. It was for her interview with a small newspaper in Edinburgh, which she was going to give that evening. As a friend of Harry Potter's, she sparked interest. And though normally she didn't use her status as that for gain, this was an entirely different situation.

"You're better off just ignoring her until right before she leaves." Ginny whispered in Ron's ear. "Then kiss her or something and offer to go with her. Tell her you're proud of her. She'll love it."

Ron nodded, stuffing his mouth full of porridge so that he couldn't reply. He had taken to getting romantic advice from Harry and Ginny, which was quite stupid, really. Not from Ginny - Ginny was a girl and knew Hermione well. But Harry was the last person to ask about romance.

He and Ginny had agreed to separate right before school started. Harry just couldn't hold up an attraction to her any longer, not in that way. During the War, so many emotions had coursed through him. Panic. Love. Desperation. He needed someone... anyone. And Ginny was here, still crushing on him like she had for years. She had been someone to lean on in the tough times, but after it was all gone... he had felt guilty - like an absolute jerk - but it wasn't fair to lead her on, was it? When he kissed her, he felt like he was kissing Hermione. His sister. It was just... wrong.

He had asked Hermione about it and she told him to be gentle, but to say it if he meant it. He had told Ron and Ron had been royally pissed off for a few days until he realised that Ginny was taking it better than he was, and that he had better back down from his "big brother" stance.

Harry was horrible with girls. Absolutely horrible. The first time he had kissed a girl, she had been crying. The second time, it was practically incest. What now? He had spotted some pretty girls at the Hogs Head, and had even spent the night with two or three. Two or three. That was the problem. Harry couldn't even remember their names. He wasn't that kind of guy. He wanted something... loyal. Firm. Long-lasting and genuine. Something like Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, or what his parents probably would have had had they lived.

He wished his dad was alive for the millionth time in his life. He wished Sirius had lived... he needed an adult to talk to about his being messed up. He wasn't like the normal kids his age. He couldn't just mindlessly shag - he was different, yet again. What was wrong with him, he didn't know. But his dad would have talked him through it. Sirius would have made him laugh, and would have assured him that eventually, the right girl would come along when Harry was ready. But that didn't help much when Harry didn't know what Sirius would say beyond that. Because Sirius was dead.

Remus? Who knew? He'd have probably said something along the lines of "not everyone needs someone in that way". Remus had probably made a mistake marrying Tonks, he was right. Remus was one of those people that didn't need someone in that way, or at least, he hadn't found the right girl. But it didn't matter. Because the only other parent-figure he had had after his dad and Sirius was dead, too.

Well, there was Dumbledore. But had Harry ever talked to Dumbledore about sex, he would have wanted to die. And have everyone Obliviated of not only the conversation, but of his own existence. And besides, Dumbledore knew that Harry was going to die and didn't say anything. Pig for slaughter. He wasn't so sure how he felt about having a manipulative old man as a mentor in his life.

_Well, too late to worry about that._

"You look like you're in your own little world, Harry." Ginny commented as owls began to fly overhead and drop mail onto the table.

Harry gave a small smile. "I guess I kind of am." he shook his head. "Do you ever feel like-"

_Plop!_ A piece of mail landed in his cold porridge. "Ugh." Harry groaned, picking up the porridge-soaked paper from his food and trying to wipe off the oats and cinnamon with his finger.

Hermione looked up from her notebook long enough to roll her eyes. "Honestly, Harry. Are you a wizard or are you not? _Scourify_."

Harry smiled weakly after realising that his piece of mail was now in much better condition than it had been before. "Thanks, Hermione." He turned it over and looked at the front.

_Harry James Potter_. The handwriting was shaky, small, and cramped. You had to practically cross your eyes to read it and then you kind of felt nauseas after doing that. Harry had hated that handwriting so much in the past. He had finally given up on reading the notes in the margins of his essays. They always said the same thing, that he used too many Quidditch analogies and was a foolish Gryffindor. Harry had once been tempted to tell the owner of the cramped handwriting to go fuck himself, but had never quite gotten the courage to.

Besides, he always had had much wittier insults when the time came to yell at the man.

The colour left his face, and he knew it. Suddenly, it felt like there were too many people in the Great Hall to read the letter. The letter needed to be read somewhere quiet. Somewhere... dim. Somewhere hidden.

He stood up. "I'm going to run to the loo before classes start."

Ron raised a brow. "Interesting, mate. Thanks for sharing."

Ginny was smarter than that, though. "What is it, Harry?"

_If I wanted to tell you, don't you think I'd have told you? _"Constipation, probably." He dashed out of the Great Hall before anyone could question him any further.

He ran down various corridors. He knew where he was going without thinking to hard about it. He had spent so many hours looking at the map the Marauders had made that he knew the castle probably better than they did. He was starting to get scared to use it, though. Even though Remus had finally put a spell on it that made it resistant to getting torn, smudged, caught on fire, or damaged in any way, he was still afraid something would happen to it. Was there any way to make a duplicate? He'd like to keep the original one, the one that his dad, Sirius, and Remus had held with their own hands, safe.

Finally, he crouched underneath a large staircase in a secret cupboard. It wasn't like his cupboard under the stairs back at the Durlseys. Nah, this was much bigger, and could be lit up with a _Lumos_. But it was private. It was so covered with cobwebs when Harry had first found it. He doubted even McGonagall or Fred and George had ever ventured there, though it had been on the Marauder's Map.

Hands shaking, he broke the seal on the letter and unfolded it. His heart was beating wildly. He wasn't sure he could look at it, at first. Whatever it said would either make him whoop for joy in the slightly cramped space or throw himself against the wall. Either way, a cracked skull was in order, and he didn't really like pain.

_You sent a letter to Weston, didn't you? _He checked with himself. _You did, didn't you? Of course you did. Then why did Snape reply?_ He didn't take the time to think about it much longer. He took a deep breath and look down at the short letter, which was also written in Snape's unmistakeable handwriting.

_Dear Mr. potter,_

_WeLl, I havE given your messAge quitE a lot of tHinking. My answEr stiLl, however, remains to be comPletely the saME. i Appreciate your interest in My Slave, but I am Obligated to Really ask that you do not peRsist with Your inquiries on the subject_

_I aPpriciate your overwheLming intErest in my compAnieS. It is quitE an honour to have your support._

_Mr. Richard Weston_

**Coming soon in _Unwell...  
_Chapter Twenty-Three: _Stalking_**


	23. Stalking

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
"Stalking"**

* * *

Harry was not the studious type. No, he very rarely studied for fun or because he was bored. There were always brooms to fly, Exploding Snap to play, food to eat, things to think about, corridors to explore... and keeping in mind that he did not get bored out of habit (he had learned to entertain himself at the age of four-years-old when he had been stuffed in the cupboard for six hours. He knew it was six because he could tell time. He could tell time and Dudley couldn't. That was the whole reason he had been locked in), that made the amount of studying he did very small.

He only studied for exams, and that could better be defined as "cramming". The Gryffindor boys in Harry's year had held cramming parties in the past - Fred and George would help. They would sneak down to Hogsmeade and get some butterbeer and candy, and just eat and drink as they studied. Seamus would play music from the wizarding radio he obtained... and they would cram whatever they could in their heads until the wee hours of the morning. They would then go into their classrooms, exhausted and hungover... barely managing to get acceptable marks. Hermione had always told them that they would be better off not cramming at all and getting a good night's sleep, and Harry supposed that was true... but there was _something_ about having cram parties.

But he knew plenty about slavery, now. He had devoted himself to learning every single thing about the subject, the way he had in third-year to learning about Hippogriff trials. Of course, that hadn't turned out so well, but this would. This _had_ to. Because there was no execution sentence for Snape.

Harry inwardly wished there _was_. Snape would probably prefer death than slavery. Or maybe not. Snape had been a slave to Voldemort and then to Dumbledore, really, for years. Maybe he liked being in slavery? Maybe he needed someone to tell him what to do.

Nah, not Snape. Definitely not Snape. Snape was too proud. Too arrogant. Too snooty, and too damn smart.

One thing he had learned was that slaves were valuable. Outrageously expensive. Snape had been sold for 20,000 Galleons at Henderson's, and apparently that was not outrageous for slaves. 100,000, now, that could be considered outrageous for a slave, but for things that were considered to be so worthless and scum-like, they were expensive. Harry, he considered Dudley's cast-offs like scum, and he wouldn't pay a single quid for them. Sometimes, the wizarding world just didn't make sense, no matter how hard he tried to understand it.

"All right, Hermione," Harry said, catching up with the bushy-haired girl as she walked down the corridor. He liked her hair the way it was, but he knew she practically had to pull it out every morning to get the knots out. You'd think that with so much magic, she'd find something to tame her hair. But then again, he was one to talk.

"Harry!" She glared at him. "Where have you been? It's ten o'clock! Classes have been in session for hours! Do you know how much-"

"Yeah, yeah. I've been thinking." He said. He glanced around at the students walking past them in crowds, who thankfully didn't seem to be paying attention to them. "Look, I've got to find a way to skive off for the rest of the day. I'm thinking I just... go? McGonagall will get mad and will probably take away about a million points but-"

"Harry, slow down. No one can understand you when you talk like that." Hermione admonished him.

Harry sighed. Sometimes when he got really enthusiastic, he started spitting a little and got a lisp. It wasn't his fault. Maybe there was a spell to fix that, too. "I've got to go talk to Weston. I've got to see him face-to-face. I've got to offer to buy Snape. Maybe he won't turn me down in person. Maybe I'll figure out why he won't sell. At least, I'll be able to see Snape and see how he's doing, which isn't good, I don't think. But I've got to figure out where he lives, which I have in my file upstairs. London, right? I've got to get the exact address and then, I can just walk outside the perimeter and Apparate and-"

"Quiet down!" Hermione hissed.

Harry realised just then that all the students had gone to their classrooms, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the hall. Anyone would be able to overhear what they were saying. Filch was probably listening in. Harry half-expected Snape to billow in any moment, looking at them all bat-like, and taking 344,494,209,294,294,000 points away for being tardy.

Hermione sighed. "What are you talking about, Harry? Professor McGonagall has already written Mr. Weston a dozen times. He won't sell him. And Snape doesn't want to come here if he's not being permanently sold."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Weston just told him to write that. Come on."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't see how you offering to buy him face-to-face will change anything, Harry. Why can't you just write a letter and-"

"I did." Harry interrupted. "All that bastard Weston did was have Snape write the response for him. How evil is that? I mean, if you really wanted to torture someone, you'd let them know that someone was trying to rescue them and make them turn them down. That's a sign that you are pure evil, you know."

"Harry, really; Ron's language is rubbing off on you. What did Mr. Weston say?" Hermione asked, her over-active eyebrows quirked.

Harry fished in his pocket and pulled out the porridge-smelling, crumpled letter. "See?" He said as she read it. "He's just being an arse. I've got to figure out why he wants to have Snape so bad. You know how Weston has that 'connections' thing. If he knows Harry Potter really is offering to buy his slave, then he'll probably give in, or at least be closer to it. Do you-"

"Did you notice anything strange about this letter?" Hermione pursed her lips, a sign that she was concentrating.

"Yeah, that Snape wrote a letter to me and was actually civil for once." Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't really see what's so unusual about that, seeing is how Weston told him what to write."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry, hand me your quill."

"My... quill?" Harry asked. "Um... it's in my bag." He left his bag under the stairs.

"For goodness sakes! Get mine out of my bag, then. And my inkwell."

Harry reached into his friend's bag and began digging through it.

"Bend down." Hermione ordered to Harry, taking the inkwell and quill from her.

It was Harry's turn to raise a brow. "Gonna spank me? Was I that bad, Mum?"

"Do it!" She ordered.

Ron and Harry had the same weakness - eventually, you gave into Hermione. Ron because he was in love with her, Harry because he was just tired of fighting. He bent over halfway.

"Good." Hermione said, sitting the letter on his back, and carefully balancing the inkwell on it. "Hold on. The quill against the parchment could tickle."

It did. "Why are you writing on the letter?" Harry protested. "Use a different piece of parchment."

"Shush!" She admonished him.

He did. She always worked better when people shushed. After eight years, he knew better.

"Harry." she said finally, just as his back began to make him feel as if he were two hundred and thirty. "I think this is a cipher."

_A what?_ "What do you mean?"

"Look at it." She said, pulling her inkwell and the letter off of Harry so that he could stand.

_Ugh. I'm going to be a hunchback. I can see it now._ He took the letter from her and wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

At the bottom of the letter, Hermione had written the letters PLEAEHELPIAMSORRYPLEASE. In English, he was pretty sure that that meant "please help. I am sorry. Please". Even though there was an 's' missing.

"Don't you get it?" Hermione said, hurriedly. "Professor Snape is a scholarly man, Harry. He doesn't make simple mistakes like a five-year-old might. I don't care how 'damaged' Mr. Weasley thinks Professor Snape is – knowing how to read and write... those skills don't just disappear because you don't use them for... what has it been... four months?" she shook her head. "Mr. Weston probably did tell Professor Snape what to write, but Snape put a secret message in. A simple one. Something that even Gryffindors could understand."

_Is she insulting Snape or Gryffindors with that comment?_ He'd probably never know.

He snatched the paper from her and quickly began scan reading it again. "How did you get that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Harry! Sometimes, I... look," she stuffed some of her her behind her ear. "The 'P' in Potter isn't capitalised – nouns and proper names should always be capitalized. I'm sure Professor Snape knows this."

"I know he does." Harry muttered, thinking of all the poor grades he had gotten because he had forgotten to capitalise one lousy word.

"See And the 'L' in 'well' – there would be no reason on this earth to capitalise that. All the wrongly capitalised letters make a message, Harry. He's asking for help. Your help, from the looks of it." She chewed her lip as she looked at him. She always did that when she was thinking. "I don't know why there is an 'S' missing. That's weird, but you're right – you've got to go to Mr. Weston's. Now. Ron and I will cover for you . Just," she grabbed his wrist and laughed without mirth, "don't do anything stupid."

Harry shook his head. "No promises."

* * *

Harry had more trouble than he should have had getting into the building. The building where the Westons had their flat was really fancy looking from the outside, and guarded by several uniformed men, who stood there mainly to keep the wrong sort from coming in, and to help people carry their heavy bags up to their flat (as you could not Apparate into the building. How would that be, to have a complete stranger Apparate in the middle of your loo?). They had been slightly hesitant to let Harry pass, but once Harry introduced himself as Harry Potter (yes, _the_ Harry Potter) and showed off his scar, they let him pass through.

Mr. Weston and his wife lived on the top story, their flat taking up the entire top floor. Harry did not know what he was going to say to them when he got up there - "hallo, my name is Harry Potter and I'd like to buy your slave"? They obviously did not want to sell Snape, for no matter what the price.

But he couldn't understand why that was. He had grown up hearing Uncle Vernon always saying "anything can be bought" and such. Uncle Vernon randomly stopped and asked to buy the oddest things - bricks, houses, oceans... anything Dudley decided he had to have then and there. Once he tried to buy a little kid's dog right off him! Harry, of course, knew that that was ridiculous, but really... slaves were pretty valuable, there not being many. Apparently thousands of years ago, a certain amount of people had been punished with a lifetime of slavery, a curse being put on them for good measure. That particular curse acted like the Imperius, only was permanent. That curse quickly fell by the wayside as slaves were starting to be told things "oh, just jump off a cliff" and doing it literally. Other variations had picked up for their offspring, who became slaves as children, and their offspring, and so on. Only very rarely had slavery been used for punishment since. And it had to figure that somehow, Harry would get caught up in it all.

But it was not exactly like there were _no_ slaves available to buy. There _had_ to be better slaves out there than Snape. Snape was mean, vindictive, cruel, sarcastic, mean, snarky, slimy, ugly, greasy... did Harry mention 'mean'? Snape was an outright bastard, though not quite evil, as he had only discovered a mere amount of months ago.

Roughly eight months ago, really. Harry felt kind of... bad, for Snape winding up in the position he was in. It wasn't Harry's fault, he understood that. Snape had gotten in trouble because he bore the Dark Mark, which he accepted before Harry was even born. It wasn't Harry's fault, but that Snape had had such a hard life since then... well, it kind of was. Had it not been for his stupid scar...

And then Harry had to bloody go save Snape's _life_? Why couldn't he have left him to die there in the Shrieking Shack? At least Snape wouldn't have to be in slavery. That had to be worse than dying.

The curse that the Death Eaters, and most slaves, were under was pretty simple. Irreversible, it kept their free wills and minds intact. But there was a tattoo of sorts on their heads. Some tattoos were almost invisible, some whatever colour their owners desired. Whether they could be seen well or not depended on whether the slave was allowed to purchase things. If the slave was not allowed to go into a store and buy something, the shop owner would know by one look at the slave's forehead.

The tattoo was a magical one. It burned when the slave disobeyed their owner's orders, directly or indirectly. It was also attached to the slave's conscience. If the slave felt bad for doing something that they knew their owner would not like, even if it hadn't been forbidden, the tattoo would burn. And it would continue to burn until the curse felt like the slave had been punished enough, or the owner touched the slave's forehead, which was supposed to cease the burning and be some sort of calming thing...

Harry had done his research. Really, he had. He hadn't crammed so much in one short period in his _life_. In fact, he, Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the Order had exhausted all the materials they had at Hogwarts, in the normal and restricted sections. They began borrowing books from other libraries, other schools... but there was no more information to be had. There were books on some subjects Harry hadn't cared to read about, such as a whole series of seventeen books on how to punish slaves.

No one had touched those.

_What is your plan, exactly? _He asked himself again as he climbed up the long staircase. He was used to lots of stairs, thanks to living at Hogwarts. _Well, you'll buy him... somehow, and... and he can live in his dungeons until you leave school. And then... you go to Grimmauld Place. If they aren't still cleaning the Dark Magic out of it. Then you... er... start your Auror training, and Snape can either go back to teaching Defence or Potions... if he wants..._

Harry already vowed that he was never going to order Snape around or punish him. He wouldn't even try to be Snape's friend. He'd let Snape be as mean and vindictive as he wanted. Sure, it might be easier to just order Snape to "shut up", but it would ruin what Harry was trying to do.

_What are you trying to do, exactly? Well... make it up to him. _Harry knew that the reason Snape had spied for the Light and almost laid down his life for Harry on multiple occasions had been because of Snape's love for Lily, and because of a life-debt Snape owed James... but he had done a lot. If the situation had not been as bad, Harry wouldn't be so inclined to help him...

And that note! It clear as day as "Please help me. I am sorry. Please". And it was clearly from Snape. It was Snape's writing, and why would Weston want help? What would he have to apologise about?

And not capitalizing things properly was one of the things the really irritated Snape. Harry knew that for a fact. Just how many essays had Harry gotten back graded with a 'T' that had notes written into the margins that said _'I am starting to think that the rags are right and that the Potter family really does have troll-blood in them. How can the intricate matters of potions be drilled into your dunderhead skull if you cannot do anything but poorly phrase Quidditch analogies? You are not even capable of capitalizing proper names. You should be lucky you even got into this school'_.

So yes, Snape meant to not capitalized "Potter", capitalized one of the "L"'s in "Well", etc. Which meant Snape was desperate. Snape begging? Yes, Snape was desperate.

Harry stood outside the pale coral-coloured door, trying to gather his thoughts. What should he say? "I was just in the neighbourhood..." The Westons _knew_ Harry wanted to buy Snape. They had to, with the letter Harry had sent. Certainly... he hated to use his fame for getting things his way, but if it came to that, then he would-

"Are you going to knock or stand there?" A cranky voice wheezed.

Harry whirled around at the top of the stairs. "Who said that?"

"Me, you silly little boy. Who'd you think it was? Merlin himself? Ha!" The door knocker was gold, and it was... laughing. As Harry leaned closer to examine it, it indeed had small eyeballs, two dents for a nose, and a small mouth. And it spoke.

"You... you can talk!" Harry breathed. In the seven years he had known he was a wizard, he still could not get used to things like that. He wondered what things he had encountered as an infant. It felt odd that he couldn't actually remember talking door knockers, baby broomsticks, and other things.

"Of course I talk! Can't you?" The door knocker sneered.

"I-Is this the home of the Westons?" Harry asked, tentatively.

"Depends who's asking."

"Harry Potter."

"_The_ Harry Potter? The Saviour-Of-The-World? The-Boy-Who-Lived?"

Harry sighed. "Saviour-of-The-World" was a title he hated. It was quite an exaggeration, and as for The-Boy-Who-Lived? Hadn't he outgrown that title over a year ago? He was an adult now, for Christ's sake! But he nodded.

"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? Knock on me!" The door knocker enthused with glee.

Harry just gave a curt nod, then lifted his hand and grasped a hold on the door knocker.

"Hehe, it tickles, it tickles!" The door knocker giggled.

The raven-haired teen took a deep breath before rapping on the door. Hard. Several times. Then he let go of the door knocker and wiped his hands on his robes, awkwardly.

He wore his dress robes to the Westons, just in case. They probably dressed in robes that even Harry, with all of his parents' and Sirius' money, would never wear. And he was okay with that. He, of course, wore one of his Weasley jumpers underneath for good luck. The one he got for his fifth year, the navy blue one with a golden 'H' on it. It still fit him, even though he was eighteen now. Hermione assured him that Mrs. Weasley had probably placed a spell on it that made it grow with him, but after he asked her to show him proof of such a spell, she grew quiet. He knew he hadn't grown much since fifth-year. He was still skinny, and no taller than five feet, five inches. He knew because of the huge deal that Ron had made out of Quidditch this year, how their Seeker should be really small... so of course Harry was perfect! Somehow, Harry did not think it was supposed to make him feel insecure about himself, but it did.

He was busy thinking on his height compared to the boys – and girls – in seventh year (yeah, even compared to the girls, he was pretty shrimpy) when the door cracked open.

"Hello." An old woman greeted him, cautiously.

She had dark grey hair that was twisted around on the top of her head. He dark eyes appraised him critically. She had a very lined face... she was a bit shorter than Harry, though definitely heavier. Her eyes looked tired.

"Hallo." Harry said awkwardly. "Is Mr. or Mrs. Weston here?"

"They are not available, no." she said shortly. "Would you care to pass a message onto them, or are you a friend of their son's?"

Harry bit his lip. Somehow, he had banked on Mr. or Mrs. Weston, or Snape, opening the door. "Er, it's kind of important." He nervously, out of habit, began toying with his fringe. "It's kind of..."

The woman's eyes widened. "Mr. Potter?"

He dropped his hand from his forehead. "Yes?"

Her face broke out in a smile. "Oh, Mr. Potter! Why didn't you say it was you, child? Come in, come in!" She ushered him in, as if he had been expected.

He was inside what seemed to be a parlour. The wallpaper was white with light pink floral flowers. The trim was done in matching light pink, and the floor was carpeted in a pristine white plush carpet. All the upholstery matched. Harry could see the start of a hallway on the left side of the room, and the dining room on the right. Straight ahead, there appeared to be more house... probably more of a living area over a place to keep guests (years being bored out of his mind, studying Aunt Petunia's magazines had apparently done him good).

"Please, sit down." The grey-haired woman motioned to a armchair, which Harry awkwardly perched on. It was a bit low, even for him, and his legs felt kind of cramped. "Could I get you something to drink?"

"Er, no thanks." Harry said.

"All right, then, child. Master is not home, but Mistress is. I will go and see if she is-"

_Master? Mistress? _This woman was a slave. "Hold on, wait a second." Harry protested.

She turned and looked at him, expectantly. "Yes?"

"You're a slave." Harry said, feeling his face burn. He didn't know why.

She nodded. "Yes."

Harry fidgeted a bit in the seat. "You know Severus Snape?"

The woman took in a sharp breath. "We're not to speak of him in this house."

Harry's forehead wrinkled. The way she was talking about it made Snape seem like Voldemort, how no one dared speak his name. But Snape was just... Snape, right? Why couldn't you speak of him? "Why not?"

She glanced cautiously around. "Mistress will have my head if I-"

"You had probably better explain why, because the reason I'm here is about him." Harry pointed out, trying to manoeuvre the best he could. He was part Slytherin... right? The Hat had wanted to put him in the House, after all, so he had to have some amount of cleverness. "Why can't we talk about him? I swear, I won't tell anyone."

The woman sighed, taking another quick glance around before speaking in a low voice. "The child was in the middle of a misunderstanding. Not his fault, mind you, but-"

_What the hell? _Harry shook his head quickly, trying to make sense of it. "Wait, what?"

"I should really not be discussing this." She said. "I have been forbidden to-"

"But there are exceptions to every rule." Harry said quickly, before she could fully change her mind. There were, after all. Such as the rule of "do not leave your common room after curfew". So many times after curfew that Harry had left the common room had been extremely worth it, and had even been rewarded with points. "Surely your owners would rather you explain the situation than have to do it themselves."

That seemed to work. She lowered her voice even more. "Mistress discovered that Master used him inappropriately. When Mistress would leave, Master would do... inappropriate things to Severus, things that a married man is not usually permitted to indulge in."

Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he felt bile rise to his throat. Snape? _Snape_? Snape was... Snape? "Why _Snape_?" Harry said finally, swallowing the disgusting taste in his mouth.

The woman shrugged. "I am not going to pretend to be able to read Master's mind, though I am sure he has had a long fixation with bondage that could only be practised on someone forced to submit. Mistress was certainly never willing to lower herself to such..." her voice lowered even more. "And I am fairly certain that Master's tastes run on the other side, so to speak."

"He's gay?" Harry asked, his mind furiously trying to work the details out. If Weston was gay, then why was he married to a woman? Could gays get married in the wizarding world? Even if not, why would Weston be married at all?

She only shrugged. "As I said, I cannot read his mind, but I do imagine he does not prefer the fairer sex." she paused. "The marriage between Master and Mistress was arranged when they were young children."

"Oh." Harry said. He knew that in the olden days, Muggles had arranged marriages, but he never expected wizards to still practise those. Was that why Draco Malfoy spent so much time with Pansy Parkinson? It'd explain why he even acted remotely attracted to her dog-like face.

"'Oh', indeed." The woman said, smoothing out the apron she wore over her dress out. The apron was splattered with what looked to be tomato sauce. "Over the New Year, Mistress walked in upon Master, Severus, and another man. She then forbade them to contact her. Master and Mistress are now on speaking terms - they write letters, meet in public, but Mistress has made it clear under no uncertain terms that Severus is to go if Master wants back in the house." she shook her head. "A shame. Severus was such a nice child."

Snape? _Nice_? Child? Snape was the exact opposite of _nice_. He was... "Wait. Go? What do you mean by 'go'?" He had a horrid image of Snape getting decapitated or something of the sort. Would Mrs. Weston really stoop to wanting him killed? That's what the Blacks had done when they got tired of their House-Elves.

She shrugged. "I assume she means that she wants him sold."

"Oh." Harry said, weakly. At least he wouldn't have to see Snape's head mounted some place. "Well... is he here? Snape, I mean."

"Child, he has not been here since the New Year. He went wherever Master went." she shook her head. "Mistress has told me all of this in the strictest of confidence, mind you. If I hear that you've run to the Prophet with this news, I swear by-"

"I hate the Prophet. And all newspapers of all kinds." Harry interrupted her. "So... Snape. He's still with Mr. Weston?"

"Last I heard, though I would not bank on it. Have you seen the _Prophet_ from a week ago?" At Harry's shake of his head, she continued. "Master posted an ad for Severus. Very short, small, but to the point. I should doubt he is still with him, as most slaves sell fast. It is a miracle, really, that the ad ever got placed. Usually you hear of someone from the newspaper buying the slave before the general public has a chance to ever see the ad."

Harry nodded. He hadn't expected his voice to sound so... hoarse. "Who do you think bought him?"

"I have not a clue. I suggest that is something you take up with Master, or the Ministry for Magic. Preferably the latter, as we are forbidden to mention the poor child in this house."

Harry felt like laughing, despite of the grim circumstances. "Snape? A child?"

The woman drew herself up, making her seem much taller than she was. "I am one hundred and nine years old, young man. You are all children to me." Her expression softened. "And he really did seem that way, sometimes. So vulnerable, so afraid... and yet he did so much to try and not show it. Very pitiable, actually. He never let me get close to him. I do not know what he was afraid of by _me_, but..." she shook her head sadly. "I only hope that whoever Master sold him to does not hurt him."

"Well, don't worry about that, because if no one had bought him yet, I will." Harry said, determinedly. "Thanks a lot for your help..."

"Carita." she supplied. "And if it helps Severus, then I suppose it is worth it." Something flickered in her eyes that Harry did not have a chance to read. "But please do not let Mistress know I supplied you with this information. If she finds out, she'll have my head."

Harry nodded. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. How do you suppose I can contact your master?" The word "master" felt weird coming from his mouth.

"He is to be at the engagement party for Hanson Jolin and Kelly Malfoy this evening." Carita supplied. "If you can manage to get an invitation-"

"I'll be there." Harry said. _Malfoy_... probably a relative of Lucius'. But no matter. He was the Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived - they'd let him into the party just for appearance's sake. "Carita... I appreciate it. If there's anything I can do, just-"

"Do not hurt him." Carita's eyes narrowed. "All Severus needs is a slight push before he goes over the edge. If-"

"I'll let you know what happens." Harry promised. "And in my care, he'll never come to harm. I promise you."

* * *

"Oi! Malfoy!" Harry jogged up behind Draco, who was walking alone in a corridor in the dungeons. Goyle no longer attended Hogwarts, and Draco, who was making up for the year he also lost, was left alone without his cronies.

"What is it, Potter?" Draco sneered without even turning around. His steps did slow though and his posture stiffened, as if he expected Harry to start throwing hexes in the corridor, unprovoked. Which he'd never do... unprovoked.

"Do you have an aunt named Kelly? Or, like, maybe a cousin or something?" Harry came up in front of him and began walking backwards, as to talk face-to-face with the blonde boy.

"What makes you think I'd tell you, Potter?" Draco looked positively disgusted at having to even talk to Harry. Since the War ended, Draco had been not making a big deal out of much, probably just trying to get his NEWTs unnoticed. He likely still bore the Dark Mark and, like the Slytherin he was, wanted to avoid trouble.

"Because I saw a notice in the paper for her engagement." Harry offered. He had actually seen no such thing, but wouldn't it be just like a Malfoy to announce it in the paper?

Draco's posture relaxed some. "Yeah. My father's brother's daughter. Why would you care?" He asked suspiciously.

Harry really didn't have an excuse for that. To be honest, he hadn't really had the time to think of one. He had Apparated outside of the Westons' flat to the Hogwarts gates, raced inside, and sought out Draco, starting in the dungeons. It hadn't been an hour ago that he was speaking with Carita.

"It's personal." Harry said. "It's no evil plot against your family, or anyone else. I swear. I just need to know where her engagement party is being held."

Draco stopped dead. "You're daft, Potter. What makes you think that I'd-"

Harry took a step closer to Draco, looking up at him with his eyes narrowed. "If you don't tell me, I swear, I'll have an article put in the front page of the _Prophet_ about how you deserve to be put into slavery, how you were not under the Imperius curse." He felt a surge of satisfaction as the already pale boy lost what colour he had. "Your father has a lot of power, but I have more. I could sway the entire world, if I wanted to." He paused, letting the truth of his words ring clear before continuing. "So, where is it, Malfoy? And keep in mind that if you tell anyone I'm headed to her engagement party, I know where to find the best reporters in the business."

"Damn you, Potter." Draco leaned against a stone wall, as if suddenly weak. "Haven't you done-"

"Answer." Harry said flatly. "I have a schedule I'm operating off of." Actually, he likely had plenty of time. It was not even lunchtime. But he did have Quidditch practise right after lunch, and needed to have time to let his stomach settle. "And I'm going to be late for Charms, so you'd better-"

"My house." Draco said. "I _think_. I'm not exactly invited - I'm in school, you know? This isn't the kind of school where they let you do whatever you please after classes. They like to control, dictate, and-"

"Thanks, Draco." Harry said, using Draco's first name, smiling sweetly. "See you later."

He hated using his fame in the way he had been all day, but it was working. He still hated being famed for doing nothing - because in the end, it seemed like all he did was make a few stupid mistakes and wound up having his arse saved at the last moment. But he could not deny how the world pretty much bowed at his feet at the slightest request. He would never use his fame for stupid things, like getting a seat in a full restaurant or a room at a 'No Vacancy' hostel, but this was crucial.

And rather ironic, as he was using what Snape hated about him to get Snape out of hell.

**Coming soon in _Unwell...  
_Chapter Twenty-Four: _Best Laid Plans_**


	24. Best Laid Plans

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
"Best Laid Plans"**

* * *

It wasn't going to be a dark and stormy night, and for some reason, that was really pissing him off. When one was supposed to venture into Malfoy Manor, the very place where Dark itself resided, it was supposed to be really creepy. Not a normal, bright, sunny day. Or evening. Whatever.

_What exactly will you do once you get there? _Harry asked himself as he didn't pay attention in Transfiguration. _You can't just waltz in and say 'hey, I'm Harry Potter and I want to buy Snape'. You've tried that with letters, and it didn't work. And you can't waltz. _He had tried to learn in fourth-year – that was one of his biggest failures to date, though the whole Snape mission was quickly surpassing it.

_Maybe you can try to make friends with this Weston guy. _He felt like vomiting at the thought, but it had good potential. If he could just go see Weston at his house where he kept Snape, he'd be able to see how Snape was. And Snape would know that they were helping. Maybe Snape would have good ideas. He would probably know how Weston thought, what he liked, what his habits and weaknesses were. He couldn't count too much on that, though – that had been one of the Order's biggest mistakes in Henderson's. They had counted on Snape being fully-functional, and he hadn't been.

And Snape was definitely not going to be fully-functional. Weston 'used' him? As in... sex? That sent Harry's mind into a tailspin. He had no clue what could have possibly been going on in Weston's mind to do that, but to do that to anyone was insane. And _Snape_? Was Weston _blind_? If he had wanted to buy someone for sexual purposes, he could have bought someone better looking. A girl, or if he really was into blokes, a guy that was less... Snape-like. He couldn't see the sexual appeal in the man at all. He wondered how Snape felt about the whole 'using' thing; why hadn't he hexed Weston? Refused? Or maybe he liked it – Harry didn't know Snape too well, but he knew from his memories that he was lacking in the sexual areas.

What had Snape had to do? Harry had no clue how guy-on-guy sex worked. All right, so he had a _clue_ or two, but not too many. He didn't really know any guys like that, and hadn't thought about it enough to really sort it out. For a teenage guy, he had actually thought about sex not much at all until recently, after Voldemort's dying, and he still didn't think about it as much as other guys. Hermione said every seven seconds, guys thought about sex. Harry thought about it every seven _minutes_ maybe, or maybe once every half hour or forty-five minutes or so. But at least he thought about it, now. That made him normal-er, right?

_Stop thinking about it! _He fought the urge to stab himself in the skull with his wand. _This is about Snape and Snape only! Quit thinking about yourself!_

That was one of his new problems. He realised, after Voldemort died, that he had nothing to do any more. He had nothing to think about. He had had no one to save, no one to think about, except himself, really. What had he thought about before his eleventh birthday? He couldn't remember, but it probably hadn't exceeded trying to make sure he got enough to eat, that he was able to cover his bruises at school, inflicted on him from Uncle Vernon and Dudley, and trying to make sure Dudley didn't find and and steal his stash of broken crayons. It hadn't been anything important.

He thought about himself way too much, now. He was too ashamed to even talk to Ron and Hermione about it, who he took all his problems to. What was he supposed to say? 'Guys, I'm really selfish?' Eh, _no_. That wouldn't work. He'd just have to fix the problem. And helping Snape was the perfect way _to _fix it. It gave him someone else to think about, someone else to help. Otherwise he was just sitting there, doing _nothing_.

_Maybe you could tutor some first and second-years in your spare time, _he mused. _They probably need help with homework. I could help them. _That wasn't anything life changing, like killing Voldemort was, but it could be in the future. Maybe one of them would be responsible for something big in the future. And because he helped them understand their homework, they could know what to do to do whatever they needed to do.

It wasn't because of fame, fortune, or anything else that he was like this. He just liked to help people. And it made sense – if he didn't help people, he was pretty much a pointless existence. That's what he was born to do – the prophesy said that he was going to be born to kill Voldemort. Well, he had already done that. Now he needed to do something else worthwhile. It made sense in his head, anyhow.

"Mr. Potter, are you paying attention?" McGonagall's voice made him snap to attention.

He looked up from his desk, where he was busy doodling little swirls with his quill. "Oh, sorry, Professor. I wasn't paying attention."

"So I noticed." Her voice was crisp and cutting. "This is a NEWT level classroom. If you intend on doing anything with your life, Mr. Potter, I suggest you pay attention."

He did his best to not let his cheeks burn noticeably. "Yes, Professor."

He didn't need to do anything with his life. Not the way she meant. He didn't need a job. He could probably spend the rest of his life on the Potter family vault – his kids, grand-kids, and great-grand-kids probably could, too. He didn't know exactly how much was in there, but the Potters had been a relatively wealthy family. And then there was the Black vault. He had not a clue how much was in there, but there was enough that Remus had once assured him that he would never _have_ to know, that he'd never be able to run out if he tried.

Harry stabbed a hole in his parchment with his quill. Why had Sirius left him all the money? Remus could have used it more than Harry did. Especially after Remus married Tonks and all of that. But Sirius hadn't known about Remus and Tonks, because they hadn't started dating until after Sirius died. Oh well, Harry now officially had enough money to go around, for both him and Teddy.

_Teddy_. He had to do something about Teddy, too. Teddy was living with Andromeda Tonks, but Harry was still his godfather. And Harry was going to be the second best godfather in the damn world (Sirius already took first-place, he figured). He was going to be there through Teddy's entire life, and be able to tell Teddy tons of stories about his father and his father's friends, and how brave his father and two of his friends were, and how they had all died for a very good cause.

_They died because I wasn't fast enough, _Harry felt that familiar pang in his chest. _They all died because I wasn't fast enough._

That was something that haunted him. At the Potter's home in Godric's Hallow, where was he when his mum saved him from Voldemort? In the sitting room? In his bedroom? His parent's bedroom? The kitchen? The loo? The hall? A closet? Were there two loo? A parlour or something? It wasn't too important to most people, but it was to him. It was extremely important. His dad had died first, right? Why hadn't Voldemort come straight for Harry? That way, his dad would have survived. Then Sirius would have probably never gotten taken to Azkaban, and then... and then maybe Harry would have grown up away from the Dursleys, raised by his dad, Sirius, and Remus. That would have been-

_Stop it, Potter! _He growled at himself. _Quit wallowing in your self-pity!_ The voice in his head, which he was using to scold himself, sounded strangely like Snape.

Great, now he had Snape in his head.

"Mr. Potter, I suggest you go see Madame Pomfrey with that injury," McGonagall's voice was clear again.

"What?" He looked up at her, confused. Then he felt something sticky on his hand.

Looking down, he had squeezed his quill so tightly that it had snapped, poking into his skin, making a deep gash. It looked much more painful than it actually felt.

"Um, yeah. I'd better do that," He said, awkwardly, getting up from the desk.

"And Mr. Potter, please do not return until you can focus solely on your work and not whatever angst you have going on in your mind," She reprimanded him.

He just nodded in response. In that case, he should have never come to Hogwarts in the first place. Angst seemed to be his speciality. Could you get a NEWT level in it? He'd be ace.

* * *

_He was aware of the feeling of being torn apart limb by limb. He was aware of the darkness .He was aware of the screams. He was aware of the pounding headache he had, of the bleeding on his wrists and ankles from their restraints. He was aware of the dirt, the blood, the smell of burning flesh... he was aware of the dry thrusts, of the bleeding welts over every inch of his body, created by every tool imaginable. He was aware of the screams being his. He was aware of the gnawing feeling in his stomach. He was aware of it all... until he fell into darkness. Glorious darkness._

* * *

"Ginny," Harry sat down next to his ginger-haired ex-girlfriend in the Great Hall. "I need to talk to you about something important."

She paused in reaching for the sweet potato casserole. "If it involves House-Elves, bottle caps, knitting needles, and a provocative magazine, I swear on Godric's grave, I didn't do it." The look on her face was grave, except for the twinkle in her brown eyes.

Harry relaxed and chuckled. Ginny had the best sense of humour. "No, none of that." he paused. "At least, not the bottle caps. No, I need a favour."

"What's up?" She scooped a scoop of casserole onto his plate before dumping one on hers.

"I need a favour."

"So you said."

"_Spew_ related." He said, quickly, just so that she wouldn't get the wrong idea. They still got along beautifully, despite their break-up, but sometimes it still got a little awkward.

Ginny raised a brow. "Did Hermione plan this?" she glanced around, to make sure no one overheard. "Because honest to goodness, I love Hermione and all, and I think she had good ideas, but sometimes she takes all of this a little too far."

Harry agreed, but didn't say it. Hermione was his best bet on getting Snape out of whatever hell he was currently in, and couldn't afford to... God, he sounded just like a politician. He'd be right up there with Kingsley someday. He couldn't imagine his head being so shiny, though.

"No, she doesn't know. This is... my own plan." He realised how sketchy that sounded, but that was why he asked Ginny. Hermione would be too practical, Luna wouldn't be practical enough, and he didn't really know any of the other girls at Hogwarts well enough. Ginny was... perfect.

She took a bite of her food. "I'm listening."

"I'm going to crash a party tonight."

"Sounds fun."

"An engagement party."

Ginny made a face. "Ugh."

"What? The casserole bad?"

"Yeah, but that's not the point; a Pureblood engagement party? I'd rather drown in a vat of acid." Ginny had the most eloquent ways of expressing herself.

Harry had never been to an engagement party, Muggle, Pureblood, or otherwise, but he couldn't imagine how bad it could be. "What's wrong? They don't do anything stupid, like... I don't know... gross, barbaric rituals?" He had images of cannibals slashing themselves with knives.

Ginny shuddered. "I wish. More like long and boring." she sat down her fork and reached for a roll. "Who's getting married?"

The moment of truth. "I forget. Some Malfoy."

Ginny spat her food into her hand, lest she choke. "Are you _daft_? A _Malfoy_? Look, if you want to crash a party, go ahead. But engagement parties are hardly _parties_. They are stuck-up _balls_, with tons of ceremonies at the end. Why don't you go to the Hogs Head or something? You'd have more fun there. I hear there is a really good special on butterbeer tonight."

That was another thing he loved about Ginny; she knew how he preferred butterbeer over Firewhiskey, and how, even though he wasn't cheap, he liked specials just as much as the next person. Probably more. He grew up without being able to really lay claim on the clothes on his back, so buying things was really... it was a real privilege.

"It's not for fun; _Spew _related, remember?" He sighed. "I have reason to believe that Weston will be there tonight."

"Weston? The bastard that bought Snape?" Ginny's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah. I went to his place this morning-"

"-so _that's_ where you went!"

"Yeah, and he wasn't there. I talked to Carita, though, and-"

"-Carita?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah. She's, um, one of Weston's other slaves." Harry explained. "I don't know how many they've got, but Carita seemed pretty fond of Snape. She thinks he's a 'nice child'."

Ginny spat her pumpkin juice. "What?"

Harry grimaced. "Yeah. Apparently he's good at putting on an act, or..."

"Or?"

He shrugged. "She said that he only needed a little push to 'go over the edge'."

"What do you think that means?" Ginny's attention was fully focused on Harry now, and not her food. Miracle of miracles – she could eat more in one sitting than the trio combined, and knowing Ron's appetite, that was saying something.

Harry didn't really know. "I reckon that means she thinks he's going mad or something."

"Yeah..." Ginny said. She was quiet for a moment. "So what do you need me for?"

He took a deep breath. "I need you to come with me to Malfoy Manor tonight."

Ginny's eyes widened. "No way."

"Come on," Harry whinged. "Someone has to come with me, and it had probably better be a girl – don't people usually bring their girlfriends or boyfriends to that kind of thing?"

She shook her head. "They do, but that's not the point. You're not going to Malfoy Manor. Not tonight, not ever. It'll be over my dead body." her eyes flashed.

"If you don't let me go, it could be over Snape's." Harry shuddered as the scene from last May ran through his mind, when Snape was almost bitten by Nagini. Stupid, stupid, Harry.. Snape probably hated him for not letting him die, then.

Ginny shook her head. "I'll tell McGonagall."

_No, bad. Very bad._ "You can't!" Harry pleaded with her. "The plan is to sneak out in an hour, after dinner, and go to the Malfoys. All we have to do is find Weston and leave. It's that simple."

He always could go alone. Solo. He could just fly there and say that his date had to have surgery. Or had a family emergency. Or... or something.

"Why can't you write a letter? Or stop by their house?" Ginny stabbed her fork into her food. It didn't take an Order of Merlin to know that she was thinking of stabbing Harry with the fork, and taking her frustration out on her food instead, for which Harry was very grateful for.

"I already did," Harry said in a low voice, mindful of the Gryffindors around them who weren't paying attention, anyhow. "Weston is in the doghouse, so to speak. This is my best chance to talk to him. Please come with me?" He pleaded with his eyes rather than his words.

Ginny looked away. "What do you want to talk to him about?"

"Buying Snape."

"Well, duh."

Harry crossed his arms. "Fine, be that way."

"It's just..." Ginny sighed. "Look, how can you walk back into that house? After what happened last year?" she shook her head. "I've heard Ron's screams in the middle of the night, from nightmares. Don't pretend that you haven't, either, or had nightmares yourself."

Harry didn't. Because if there was one potion he knew how to brew probably better than Snape, it was Dreamless Sleep. He took it every night, religiously. He had heard that it was addicting, but if he never stopped taking it, he'd never have to suffer the consequences, would he?

"All you have to do is come with me," Harry said. "I promise – if you bring your wand, it won't be for self-defence. No violence, no nothing, I promise. We won't even see the Malfoys." Ginny probably hated Lucius Malfoy more than Harry did.

And Harry _really_ hated Lucius Malfoy.

Ginny sighed. "If I go with you, you promise to get Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban."

"What?"

"You heard me. You're a celebrity. You have connections. You know what he's done. Put him in Azkaban." Ginny lifted her chin. "Put him in Azkaban, or we have no deal."

Harry was at a loss. To be honest, he had never expected Lucius Malfoy to ever go to Azkaban. The man could worm his way out of anything. _Slither_ his way out of anything, that was.

When the trials had been going on for all the Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy, along with Crabbe Sr. and Goyle Sr., had all screamed "innocent, innocent! Imperius curse!" Harry hadn't really cared what happened at that point – he just wanted everything over with. And for once, he did something he should have started doing in first-year and just trusted Snape to take care of everything.

All the Death Eaters had gone to Azkaban for a short few weeks, before they all got taken out and put into slavery, except for the most dangerous ones, who remained in Azkaban. Except for the Malfoys, Crabbes, and Goyles, who all managed to actually get by on their "Imperius" excuse. He didn't know how they'd done it – he had been intending on asking Snape, but had never gotten the chance.

Harry could put Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban. He could, somehow... just having The-Boy-Who-Lived say that he was guilty would probably be enough. Combined with his memories, and maybe the memories of a few other people... easy. But he couldn't without knowing what had convinced the Wizengamot in the first place... it would be hard work, but he could probably do it. It would be the right thing to do, wouldn't it?

"I'll do my best." Harry vowed. "I swear on my Gryffindor honour that I'll try to get Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban."

Ginny's eyes widened. When Harry made a promise, he kept it. But an oath like that? For Harry, that was practically an Unbreakable Vow and he knew that she knew that.

"All right," She said, getting up from the table, shoving a forkful of green beans into her mouth. "Meet you at the gates in an hour. Wear dress robes – there will be press there, and they'll all want your picture." She stood up and ran her fingers through his sticking up hair. They were the same height when both standing, but as he was still sitting, she had access to his hair that way. "And don't try to slick your hair back, for Merlin's sake. It makes you look like a complete poof."

Harry snorted, watching her leave the Great Hall. Ginny was a gem, for sure. She'd make some guy really happy one day. It was too bad that Harry wouldn't be that guy. It was too bad that Harry couldn't be that guy. It was too bad that everyone who got too close to Harry died.

**Coming soon in _Unwell...  
_Chapter Twenty-Five: _Malfoy Manor_**


	25. Malfoy Manor

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five  
"Malfoy Manor"**

* * *

Wizard travel was a very inconvenient thing. Brooms were fast, but could be faster. Portkeys were great, but not everyone and anyone could make a Portkey. Floo travel could only work if you actually had permission to Floo into someone else's house. That left Apparating, which, while instant, could be winding. You also had to have been there before, or be extremely familiar with the location that you were Apparating to.

Harry and Ginny had met outside the Hogwarts perimeter and had Apparated side-along to the Malfoys (as Ginny had never been to Malfoy Manor). They didn't Apparate right outside, but a bit down the road, so that they would have time to discuss their plans.

"So, you're going to walk right up to him and say what?" Ginny asked as she and Harry walked up the dirt road. She was wearing a pretty sage dress, and sensible flats.

"Um..." Harry hadn't really thought that one out. His dress robes from fourth-year, he had discovered, did not fit him. He had had to borrow a fifth-year's, which was kind of embarrassing, but most of the sixth and seventh-years were bigger than him.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I swear, you are the most disorganized person I know... except for Ron."

_Well, what does she expect?_ Harry and Ron were practically brothers. But then again, Ron and Percy _were_ brothers, and they had nothing in common. "I just need to figure out why he won't sell Snape to me." Harry pointed out. "Then I can figure out what to do."

"It's not good conduct to discuss business at a party," Ginny stated. "You're supposed to keep all topics on the light and fluffy matters that no one cares about, like fashion, butterflies, and cloud formations." Her words were laced with resentment.

Harry just chuckled. "Pureblood customs got your knickers in a twist?"

Her eyes were dark. "It's ridiculous. My family never used to get invited to anything like this, until last May – now we can invited to all sorts of fancy parties. We don't go, of course..." he voice trailed as they neared the huge manor. "I don't know how you can come back here."

Harry didn't know how he could, either. He didn't really think about things too thoroughly. He never had. It kept him sane... as weird as that sounded.

"I figured I'd just make small talk," Harry tried, hesitantly, answering her earlier question. "You know... he knows I've been badgering him about Snape and all. He'll probably bring it up."

"And if he doesn't?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Harry did that a lot. It had always gotten him somewhere before - why not now?

They walked in silence for a few minutes. "Harry, can I ask you something important?" Ginny was swinging her arms as they walked down the road.

He inwardly cringed. _Here it comes... _"Yeah. Anything."

"Are you sure you want to buy Snape?" Ginny's eyes were filled with concern.

_She's not asking about us? About her and me? About our relationship Or lack thereof?_

Harry stopped in the middle of the road, staring at her.

Ginny stopped, too. "What?" she looked around, curiously. "Do you see something?"

Harry shook his head and continued walking. "No. I mean, no. No. I just... I just thought you were going to ask me something else." He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. I mean, there are no ways of knowing _anything_ for sure, are there? Just ways of knowing for pretty sure. And I'm pretty sure I want to buy him. I mean, he needs help." _You, Potter, are the champion of run-on sentences._

"I see." Ginny said, as they approached the big gate outside Malfoy Manor. "So long as you know what you're doing. Sometimes, I get this vibe that you don't."

"I give off vibes?"

She slugged him. "You know what I mean."

"Hullo Mr., Miss." The guards at the gates greeted them. Harry couldn't blame the Malfoys for wanting guards, after betraying all the Death Eaters in the end like they did. "Do you have your invitations with you?"

_Invitations_? Why would they need invitations? If they were invited to the party, already, which they weren't, but they were pretending they were... he opened his mouth to state his confusion, but Ginny beat him to it.

"Oh, sorry, it was Harry's owl. She ate the invitation," she said, hurriedly. "We're invited, we promise. Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley - you can check on the guest list, if you want."

Hedwig died over a year ago, and Harry missed her greatly. He thought it might be a little weird to say that he missed her as much as he did his parents and Sirius, but it was the truth. Someone evidentially forgot to tell Ginny, in all her Pureblood custom training, that it was wrong to speak ill of the dead. It was even more wrong to blame them for something that they couldn't possibly have done. How could a lost, dead owl eat an invitation that never existed?

"H-Harry Potter?" A guard began to sputter. All eyes were now on Harry's forehead.

Harry sighed, brushing his fringe to the side so that everyone could see his cursed scar. It wasn't much to look at, really. Just a slightly raised, white jagged thing on his head. It looked like it had been caused by a glass shard, really. Harry had spent ten years thinking that it had been caused by a wind shield or piece of something... it used to be his favourite part of his appearance, but that had disappeared when he realised how much shit the scar was dealing him out in life. People went on and on about his eyes too much, and how his hair was just like his dad's (he wasn't so sure he wanted to be like his dad? Maybe?). He didn't really have a favourite part of his appearance, any more.

"Yeah, Harry Potter. The-Saviour-Of-The-World?" If Harry didn't know any better, he'd have said that Ginny's voice was rather threatening.

The guards waved their wands, opening up the gates for Harry and Ginny. "Of course, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley." They kept bobbing up and down in bows. "Have a good time."

"We will." Harry found himself saying. "Don't let it happen again."

Ginny giggled once they were out of earshot. "'Don't let it happen again'." She mocked, making her voice really deep.

"My voice isn't that deep!"

"No shit."

"Then why'd you make it that deep?"

"I don' t know - why did you say it in such a deep voice?" Ginny's eyes were twinkling as they linked arms, as they walked up the side walk to the front door of Malfoy Manor.

Harry flushed. "I didn't mean to... I was trying to make some impression or something, I guess." Everyone viewed him as The-Boy-Who-Lived. If they could start viewing him as an adult now, he'd like that very much, thank you. If his voice was only a little deeper, it would help the illusion.

Inside Malfoy Manor, butlers began removing coats and such and hanging them up God only knew where. Or Harry assumed they were butlers. Maybe they were slaves. Who knew?

"Wow." Ginny breathed.

Harry followed her gaze. She was watching all the people twirling around on the ballroom floor. The women were wearing all sorts of gowns - some had huge puffed sleeves, and some could have used quite a bit more sleeve. There were dark dresses, light dresses, bright, not-so-bright... All the men wore formal dress robes. It was a little unfair, really, that the women got such a wider variety, but Harry was kind of glad it was unfair in that way. He didn't want to have to choose out of hundreds of robes - just one was fine, thanks.

"We can dance soon." He promised her. "As soon as I find Weston."

Ginny raised a brow. "Mr. Potter, if you think I'm pining to get my foot stepped on by yours, you've got another thing coming."

Harry's stomach dropped down... somewhere. He wasn't a big fan of dancing, but he didn't think that Ginny would have been so mean about it. He hadn't been trying to flirt with her or lead her on or anything. "Well, we're here as friends, I know, but- but I just assumed..."

Ginny laughed, her laughter ringing merrily. "I was just teasing you, Harry. Business first, then pleasure, I got it."

Ginny was great, but sometimes, she got a little too carried away. Or Harry got too touchy. Or something. "Okay, I've got to find Weston. You know what he looks like, right?"

She shrugged. "Tall, thin, curly moustache, child-molester looking type?"

_Or Snape-molester looking type. _Harry nodded. "Yeah. Did you bring your Dumbledore's Army coin?" At her nod, he continued. "Just use it if you find him, and keep following him. Don't let him leave. Got it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sir." She said, in military like fashion.

Harry had been part of an army for too long to find that too funny. He'd been raised a soldier, really. "Not funny. If you see his wife, just-"

"Ah, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley." A voice purred behind them, causing Harry and Ginny to both jump.

It was Lucius Malfoy, his wife on his arm. Lucius' silver-blonde hair glistened in the light, not a hair out of place. His dress robes probably cost more than the Weasleys had made ever since their marriage in 1968. Narcissa was not paying Ginny or Harry any attention, but making eyes at the handsome young photographer across the room.

"Mr. Malfoy." Harry nodded, curtly, feeling Ginny wrap her arm around his arm slightly tighter. Ginny hated Lucius more than anyone else, and had good reason to. Harry wished he could protect her from ever having to look at or think of Lucius Malfoy ever again, but apparently not enough, or he wouldn't have dragged her to Malfoy Manor.

"I did not know that you were friends of the celebrated young couple." Lucius commented.

_Quick, Harry, think... _"I think that you would find a lot of things you don't know about me, sir." Harry said in a low voice.

"It really is a lovely party." Ginny interrupted as Lucius' silver eyes narrowed dangerously. "I cannot wait to go home and write all about it in my _diary_."

Harry didn't know whether to choke back laughter or start to feel sorry for Lucius. Ginny had a grudge against him, was waiting for her vengeance, and would not rest until she got it. 'Vengeance' as in 'Azkaban' or worse.

"I see." Lucius said. "Well, Narcissa and I must see to the other guests. Have a good time." He nodded, before turning around with Narcissa.

Harry did not turn his back on them. Neither did Ginny. They were too wise to do that.

"I really hate that man." Ginny said through gritted teeth.

Harry couldn't help but agree. But he didn't get a chance to say so, because Lucius turned around again and spoke.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter? About your S.P.E.W. efforts - I realise that you make quite the hobby by freeing the enslaved, but I must ask you not to waste your time on helping any of the Death Eaters. They are simply not worth it. They are living out their fate as slaves, which was what they must have wanted, joining ranks with the likes of You-Know-Who."

Harry stared as Lucius walked away. _What. A. Fucking. Hypocrite_. Harry didn't swear too much, but that situation was begging for it. Absolutely begging for it.

"Pay no attention to him. He'll be in Azkaban soon enough." Ginny turned her nose in the air. "Let's just go find Weston and leave. And don't set your punch glass down."

Harry nodded. Lucius Malfoy, 'Imperius' or not, was not beyond putting a potion in their punch. No risks would be taken that night - enough lives had been lost at Malfoy Manor, already.

* * *

Richard casually took a sip of the champagne, nodding to Kassandra as if he really cared what she was talking about. No one cared about what that woman talked about, really. Everyone knew she was a nutter. The witch was fifty-years-old, and had her hair dyed in grey and blue stripes. She wrote Muggle novels about erotic homosexual love affairs, for a living, which was highly looked down upon in the wizarding world. But she was rich and famous, so they often attended the same parties together. Richard would never admit it to anyone, but he had actually read a few of her novels. Very good, except too much plot, and not enough porn.

He was in Tina's good graces again, thankfully. She had gotten angry before, and had kicked him out before, but never so long. Nothing like that had ever unbalanced their marriage like that before. Richard still felt like kicking himself whenever he thought about it - how had he gotten so careless? To just _assume_ Tina would stay gone until dawn? Careless. Foolish. Now, not only did he have to be so much more careful in his interests, but he also lost a valuable slave. Very valuable. One he spent so much time into cultivating into the perfect submissive. And this was what he got? He'd have to buy another slave, and keep it somewhere else, without letting Tina know. There was that old closet in his office he could keep it in - it was small, but it wasn't like Richard would be fucking in it. He could cast privacy wards in his office for that, maybe even transfigure his desk into a bed...

He still could not understand _why_ she was so angry about it. They had not had sex since Nathan's birth, years ago. The heir was born – there was no need for further sexual relationships with each other. He had assumed, for years, that she was screwing other men, which made it fine for him to fuck whoever he wanted – as long as it was kept private. They had never spoke of their affairs to each other, but that was something better kept private, even from a spouse.

"Excuse me?" A voice said behind him.

"Excuse me, Kassandra." He apologized. He turned to see a very familiar face.

The face was a familiar face for the entire world. The child had had his photo plastered all over the papers for months after You-Know-Who's vanquishment in 1981, and many times since 1994 or so. He was shockingly small in person - the press photos always made him look so much taller. He was pale, and slight. He had a mass of unruly hair that desperately needed to see a hairdresser, and glasses that could only make Richard wonder, "why not charms?". The green eyes behind the glasses had to be a result of a charm or some new cosmetic fad - eyes were simply not made in such a bright jade colour.

"Mr. Potter." Richard inclined his head.

"Mr. Weston." Harry Potter returned the gesture. He had his arm linked around a petite girl's arm. "This is my friend, Ginevra Weasley."

"It's good to meet you." Young Ginevra extended her hand, which he kissed. She was quite a beaut, she was. She had vivid red hair that exploded from her head in a curly halo. She had soft brown eyes, and her pale complexion was littered in freckles. Not your typical Pureblood girl, whose parents took care, starting at a tender age, to shield her from the sun and consequently, freckles, but the Weasleys were always a different sort. He hadn't really taken the effort to meet them, ever. He and Tina had always meant to, of course, after You-Know-Who's death, but things had come up involving the King of Yakima, and...

_He sent me a letter, _Richard realised. He had been well-aware that Harry Potter had written him a letter weeks ago, but had never taken the time to reply to it. Hell, he hadn't even read it. He had told Severus to read and reply to it... what had Severus said?

"You must forgive me for not replying to your letter sooner." Richard attempted to mask his face, apologetically. "I have been under quite a bit of stress lately, and simply did not have time to get to it until-"

"That's fine." Harry Potter interrupted. Evidentially the child had never learned to never interrupt, especially your elders. But never mind - he was the Saviour-Of-The-World - if he wished to interrupt, no one would stop him. "I realise that it is a business matter that should not be discussed here. But I am most curious of how the slave is doing?" He casually leaned against the wall.

_I hardly know. I sold him. Good riddance to bad rubbish. _Well_,_ Severus hadn't been rubbish, but he had been a mistake. It made Richard rather ill to even think of the it. "I do not know myself. He was sold recently to a man in Germany." Richard did not divulge more information. He kept the identity of all his clients quiet as a rule, regardless of _how_ they were his clients.

Harry Potter's eyes widened, and Miss Weasley took in a sharp breath. Apparently they had not been expecting that. Truth be told, Richard should have sold Severus back to Hogwarts when he had had the chance. Hogwarts would have probably paid quite a bit more for Severus than the man in Germany did. But Richard hadn't been thinking - he just knew he had to get rid of the slave, and did so as quickly and as privately as he could. He had considered simply ordering it to drown itself in the bathtub and banishing the body, but Severus had been a good pet and hadn't quite deserved that. Plus, where would have Richard banished the body to? What would have happened if a Muggle had happened upon it? Too many good wizards went to Azkaban for banishing the bodies in inappropriate manners, and having Muggles happen upon them in the middle of Times Square or the streets of Tokyo.

"I see." Harry Potter's voice was like ice. You would have never expected such a frosty voice to come out of his mouth. "Where in Germany? It is a rather personal matter, you see, and I'd like to be able to see how he is doing."

Richard shook his head. "I cannot even remember the fellow's name right off. Germany, is all I can remember. I do not give out the name of my clients, at any rate. I do apologise." He hesitated. "This is turning into a business discussion. Excuse me. I get so caught up in my work sometimes that the business world just creeps into everyday conversations."

That was far from the truth. Richard did not do much work at all. He had employees for that. But that would be a business discussion. It was his job to keep the conversation light.

"I'm starved." Young Miss Weasley spoke to Harry Potter. "All they have is watercress sandwiches, and they are cut into _tiny_ triangles, with no crust, even. Let's go back home - we can stop at a restaurant real quick on our way back. My treat."

That was extremely rude, one of the rudest things Richard had ever heard someone say at a party. To insult the food and suggest they leave, right in front of another guest? And to bring up going out to eat in a restaurant instead... revolting. He lost just about any respect he had for the Weasley family just then, but could never show it. No, in the eyes of the public, the Westons and Weasleys must remain bosom buddies.

_Hmm... _Nathan was about the age of Ginevra . Perhaps they could start inquiring on her matrimonial status. Nathan's betrothal to young Miss Jessen had been broken when she had been tragically killed in that freak accident... perhaps adding a Weasley to the family tree would be a good thing. The connections would be brilliant, to say the least.

"You look lovely tonight, Miss Weasley." Richard nodded. "Please tell your parents that Tina and I said 'hello'."

It could have been his imagination, but for a moment, he thought he saw her eyes narrow. "Of course." she said, sweetly. "I'm sure they will return your greetings." She tugged on Harry Potter's arm. "Come on."

Harry Potter nodded. "See you later, Mr. Weston."

"And you, Mr. Potter." He turned away and leaned against the wall where Mr. Potter had been previously leaning. Hmm... Miss Ginevra Weston. Not bad. She would not even have to change her initials.

* * *

_Bliss could be a strange thing. When most people thought of bliss, images of biscuits, a nice spring day, and a good book crossed their minds. Other people thought of a blue sky, soft clouds... but bliss could be other things. Bliss could be being in a dark corner, hiding. Bliss could be the relief that your injuries were healed for now. Bliss could be knowing that even though it hurt to breathe, that it wouldn't be for long. That even though you had been living in a dark basement for hours or years, you were going to die eventually. And knowing that, if you were lucky, he'd never be able to touch you again in the afterlife._

**Coming soon in _Unwell...  
_Chapter Twenty-Six: _A Discussion_**


	26. A Discussion

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six  
"A Discussion"**

* * *

Sex seriously sucked. Harry had only had it a few times with a few girls (one of which he could not remember her name), but knew enough to know that it was not all it was made out to be.

The first girl he had had sex with was Marie. She was this brown-haired girl who lived in Hogsmeade. She had beautiful doe-like eyes, and an amazing smile. She was really too pretty to have been interested in plain old Harry. 'Plain old Harry' was the key words there. She had just wanted to sleep with the Golden Boy, she had pointedly told him the next morning. Well, she had said 'The-Saviour-of-the-World', not 'Golden Boy', but same thing.

The second girl had had golden hair. Her name was Meredith. Her hair had been chopped short. She was an American, from New Jersey, and had spoke with quite the accent. She had been visiting London with her university for the summer. She had Harry had hit it off really well, but after two weeks of romance and one night of sex, she went back home to America with her fellow students. She had never responded to any of Harry's attempts to reach her. She hadn't said so, but she might as well have; she wanted to just sleep with the Golden Boy.

The third girl, Harry was pretty wary of at this point. He had sworn off any more sex until he was a bit more ready, as per Hermione's 'prude' advice, but had quickly broken his resolve that night at the Hogs Head (he knew he shouldn't have gone there - that pub had given him too much trouble over the years). She hadn't even stayed out the night - after an hour, she got up and left. Harry's biggest failure to date. He hadn't even learned her name.

While the sex was good, he supposed, it just didn't feel _right_. He had always been one to wait for it to _mean_ something, as girly as that sounded, and none of it had. It made his life really complicated whenever he had it. It wasn't worth having it at all, if that was the case.

He had sworn off sex a month ago. He would resign himself to being a hermit until he decided otherwise. He would not sleep with another girl until he was in a solid, committed relationship with one. Hermione had applauded his decision, and had given him a rib-breaking hug. Ron had just nodded, before teasing him for being virginal and prudish later.

It was just not worth the frustration. His friends assured him that he'd find that right girl eventually. He was only 'under a lot of stress', Hermione had told him. He just hadn't met "the one". He hoped they were right. He remembered overhearing a conversation between Remus Lupin and Arthur Weasley before, where Mr. Weasley told the same thing to Remus, and Remus had said "no. There will never be 'the one'. Not for me. I will be alone forever", followed by shaky sobs. But Remus had been wrong, hadn't he? He had gotten married to Tonks, and they had had a beautiful baby. So certainly there really was someone for everyone, right?

Harry knew where Remus had been mentally. He was right there, himself, only in an opposite position. He figured Remus had thought what he had because Remus was a werewolf, and Remus thought no one would willingly be in a committed relationship or shag a werewolf. Harry was The-Boy-Who-Lived - he could have a girl in his bed every night if he chose to - but that didn't make it easier. He needed to find someone who would say "Harry Potter? Who is that?" or even "The-Saviour-of-the-World? I am so tired of hearing about him". The first person he found like that, he knew, would be "the one".

Until then, he would not focus on finding "the one". He had lived ten whole years hardly knowing what love was. He could go longer. Until then, he would seek out the bane of his life, Severus Snape. Because he spent his entire life practically in hell, because of Harry. Or the prophesy, really. Because of Voldemort. But he helped save Harry. Harry owed him a decent life, however he had to go about getting it to him.

"It's just a difficult situation." Hermione explained to Harry, ignoring her butterbeer. They were at the Three Broomsticks. It was a Saturday. Not a Hogsmeade Saturday, but they were exercising their returning students rights. Harry didn't do that as often as the other returning students, Ron, Hermione and Malfoy, did. He didn't know why. He was just so... different.

Not different than what he used to be. No, he was just plain old Harry. But he was starting to notice other people – others his age lived carefree and happy lives... smiled and laughed all the time, went out on the weekends, got drunk... even Hermione, your stereotypical "good girl" was known to take advantage of being nineteen-years-old and being allowed to spend her weekends however she wanted, in or out of the castle, so long as she did not influence any of the younger students. The other students who had returned to repeat their seventh year also had the same privileges but Harry had rarely used his.

He always felt like he was sticking out like a sore thumb. He never fit in.

"Tell me about it." Harry muttered, glancing out the window at the falling snow. "But that's nothing new, is it?"

It wasn't. His life was a constant difficult situation. He sometimes got really depressed, if he thought about it. His hair was already black - maybe he should become goth. Or was it emos that were depressed all the time? Normal kids his age probably kept up with that sort of thing – he didn't.

Ron was not sympathetic. "I don't see the issue - why can't we get off our bums, go to the Ministry, and find out who Snape's owner is?"

The excursion to the Malfoys had been the evening before. Ron and Hermione, to say the least, had not been happy to learn of Harry and Ginny's rash adventure, but admittedly, it had gone well. No one was harmed or anything.

"It's not that simple." Hermione explained for the millionth time. "We would need to look at his files. Those types of files are very private files that only Ministry officials, and those that the files concern, can access. Professor Snape couldn't even access them, if he wanted to."

Sometimes, Harry understood things easily. Other times, he felt like someone picked up his mind and let it go, like a Quaffle, leaving him completely lost. "Huh? Why not? It concerns him, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but he's a slave." Hermione said, ever patiently. "They don't have the same rights we do."

The laws and restrictions surrounding slaves sucked even more than the aftermath of sex. Slaves couldn't do this, slaves couldn't do that. It was sickening. Hermione had recently informed Harry of some 'rules' and 'manners' that slaves were normally taught. How when a slave dined with their master, they had to kneel at their right side. How a slave had to bow to everyone except other slaves... they weren't 'laws', per se, but practically so. It was just disgusting. Slaves weren't like House-Elves, who _thrived_ off of doing those things.

Ron wasn't to be discouraged. "Well, we take Harry with us. Maybe that old Shacklebolt will be of some use and let us dig through the files." Ron was definitely not a big Kingsley fan any longer.

Hermione shook her head. "He'd likely be more of a hindrance than a help." Hermione was even less of a Shacklebolt fan.

"Well, who _can_ look at the files?" Harry got them back on topic. He didn't like to talk about the Order members who had given up. They weren't true Order members, in that case. Dumbledore would have been disgusted. He wondered what Dumbledore's portrait thought. He probably was pretty pissed off, as well.

"Authorized Ministry officials and Professor Snape's owners." Hermione ticked two options off her fingers. "Are you sure Mr. Weston isn't going to tell you, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Positive. He's really big on the whole 'confidentiality' thing." It didn't take a rocket scientist to know why - if you were buying slaves for sex, especially, you didn't want the entire world to know. Though he doubted that that was what Snape had been bought for. Someone like him being bought once for sex? A fluke. Twice? A miracle.

"Well, do we have another option besides breaking into the Ministry and finding his file?" Harry got them back on topic. "Aside from asking the Prophet who responded to their ad - if they have any way of knowing, it's not like they're going to tell us.

Hermione sighed. "I just don't want to get Kingsley involved."

"What other option do we have?" Ron asked. "Chances are, he feels bad that he gave up, and will do anything to help us."

"Or he pissed off that we're still trying, and will make it harder for us." Harry mentioned the other extreme.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He probably won't do either. He probably just won't let us break the law 'just' to help Snape." Fury was in her eyes.

"Well, it can't _hurt_." Harry said.

Ron shook his head. "It could. If he knows we're after it, he might make it harder for us to get it."

"He's not a villain, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "But short of Polyjuice, we don't really have any other ways of obtaining it."

_Ugh_. Harry had drinken enough bucketloads of Polyjuice Potion to last a lifetime. No thanks. "So we go ask Kingsley?"

Hermione nodded. "We'll have to flesh out a plan first, though - you two can't just waltz in there and ask for the file."

"'You two'?" Harry asked. "You're not coming?"

She shook her head. "The three of us are like a staple now, Harry. Harry Potter, flanked by his posse, equals trouble."

Harry coloured. "You're not my posse."

Ron snorted. "You've got a new one then, Harry?"

"I just mean that I don't think of you guys as, you know, sidekicks." Even saying the word made him cringe. Really, if not for Ron and Hermione, he'd have died long ago. They weren't sidekicks - they were heroes.

"We know." Hermione patted his hand from across the table.

"So, Snape." Ron got them back on topic again. "If you need any help buying him, Harry, Neville is willing to split the cost." The only thing S.P.E.W had against the current plan was that Harry would be the only one to buy Snape., which meant him spending _a lot_ of money. Harry had no issues with that, but everyone else seemed to. It wasn't like Harry was ever going to run out or anything, though.

"No." Harry said, sitting down his butterbeer and wiping the froth off his upper lip. "I need to buy him. All by myself." At Hermione's confused face, he continued. "I don't want Snape to have to answer to more than one person. We need to give him as much freedom as possible, you know? And I don't think Neville would want Snape to come live with him, either, so that would leave just me." He didn't want to be indebted to Neville more than he already felt like he was. Neville was just as much Saviour-of-the-World as Harry was, killing Nagini like he did.

Ron snorted again. "Yeah, remember his boggart? That was priceless."

Hermione even had to give a thin-lipped smile at the memory of a boggart looking like Snape, dressed in Neville's grandmother's clothes. "All right, if you're sure, Harry."

"Absolutely." Harry nodded.

"Anyhow, there are restrictions on who can own a slave, and I don't know if Neville quite fits all the requirements."

"Doesn't he?" Harry had heard of the restrictions, of course, but knowing that he fit them, had never paid much attention to what they were.

Hermione shrugged. "Well, you have to be of-age-"

"Neville is." Ron butted in.

"Hush." Hermione said. "You have to be of-age, not currently own over forty other slaves, and have proof of means."

The 'forty other slaves' rule was so that there wouldn't be one person buying up all the slaves in the world, and killing them all, abolishing slavery. Apparently some type of abolitionist had tried that back in the day, trying to save all future slaves, and wound up spending two years in Azkaban for it. Two years, for trying to make it so that there were no more slaves. He was trying to murder tons of people, and he got put away for two years.

Ron wrinkled his brow. "Proof of having means?"

"It's, er, complicated." Hermione said hesitantly. "You see... not everyone can afford to feed and clothe themselves, much less another person. The Ministry doesn't want a homeless slave on their hands when they are already risking having one homeless person... you understand?"

Harry nodded, as if he hadn't understood earlier. He already had. That's why Mr. Weasley hadn't gone with the group from the Order to try to buy Snape in the first place. He and Mrs. Weasley were kind, loving people, but they still had very little money. Even with all but two children out of the house, they still had to scrimp and save. George did extremely well with the joke shop, and could easily be called "rich", and Bill, whilst he was not "rich" by any means, he was well-off. They definitely made more than Mr. Weasley did, which was why they tried to be the ones to buy Snape. They knew they'd be allowed to.

Ron pinked slightly. "Okay, got it. Well, Harry's got his parents' money and his godfather's, so he's set for life."

"Do you have a plan for after school, Harry?" Hermione pressed. "A job lined up, an apprenticeship? Are you going to live at Grimmauld Place? A flat in London? Surrey? Dorset? Are you going to buy or rent? What are you going to do with Grimmauld Place?"

"Hermione, stop it! Can't you see, he's confused!" Ron said, motioning towards Harry, who pulled off his glasses and started rubbing his eyes tiredly.

He put his glasses on. "Er... I want to be an Auror." He said, weakly. Chasing Dark Wizards was all he knew how to do. It was all he had ever planned on doing. He was in no position to change his mind _now_. He didn't know what other job he'd choose, anyway.

Hermione shook her head. "Harry! You've got to do better than that! I've been firing off applications and letters left and right! Have you contacted the Ministry about it? What are your backup plans?"

He just shrugged. "I've never wanted to do anything else."

His friend just sighed. "All right. As soon as we get back to the castle, go see Professor McGonagall, okay? As your Head of House, she'll be able to help you."

"Why don't you just help him, 'Mione?" Ron asked, stuffing his mouth full of chips. "You have already gotten accepted into two Wizarding universities, and seven Muggle ones, not to mention that Potions apprenticeship and-"

"Because maybe I'm busy, Ronald!" Hermione snapped, running her hand through her frizzy hair. "Has it ever came to you how stressing it is to make these life-changing decisions? How frustrating it is to help your two best friends, not to mention the rest of the seventh-years, make those decisions?"

Ron opened his mouth, but then shut it. Harry figured that that was the smartest thing he had done in awhile.

Harry sighed. "Okay, so I'm going into the Auror Training Programme. That'll take me three years."

"And where are you going to live?" Hermione pressed. "Grimmauld Place? That would be very convenient, as it's right in London."

She had a point. But then again, there was always Apparating. And the Floo. Harry could move to just about anywhere, and still go into the Auror training programme.

He shook his head. "No if I can help it. I mean... I want to keep the house, I do. I just... I just don't want to live there." At his friends' puzzled looks, he elaborated. "I'll never stop thinking of it as Sirius' house. As a place for Order meetings. It reminds me of Dark times and... and..." he swallowed hard. "And Sirius, you know?" He looked away from his friends so that he could calm himself. Sirius' death was bugging him more than ever, lately. It was really starting to hit him what he had gained by getting a godfather, his father's best friend... and what he had lost by losing him.

"Harry." Hermione placed her hand on top of Harry's, looking at him in a concerned manner. "Sirius loved you. You're supposed to focus on the good times. Not the-"

Harry shook his head. "I can't do that at Grimmauld Place. I... I just can't. I can at school and anywhere else, just not... just not at Grimmauld Place. It still-" He stopped. He was going to say "it still smells like him", but didn't. Even though Sirius' bedroom still reeked of wet dog. Harry loved it that way so much he had cast smell-preserving charms on the room. It would smell like Sirius for hundreds of years. Harry thought Sirius would find that pretty touching, if not downright hilarious.

"We're here for you, mate. Remember that." Ron stated seriously, in a rare moment of brotherly love, picking up his butterbeer to take a swig.

Harry just nodded. Sirius had died years ago, but it hurt just as bad every day. He couldn't help but be glad that Remus had died - Sirius and Remus were best friends. It must have hurt Remus so much more than it hurt Harry, if that was possible.

"So, renting a flat? In London?" Hermione said awkwardly, getting back on track.

"Yeah! We could rent together!" Ron enthused. "We could set up a flat in London, right in the centre of everything! We could-"

Harry bit his lip. "Sounds good, Ron, but I don't know about being in the centre of London." At his friends' curious looks, he shrugged. "Everyone will be practically banging down my door. The Floo calls and owls will never stop. It'll be a bloody landmark - 'come see where Harry Potter lives'."

Hermione just scoffed. "And you don't think it won't be as bad anywhere else in England? Or-"

"I just said not in the centre in London. I didn't say it couldn't be in Scotland, or Wales, or..." his voice trailed. "We could always Apparate to work everyday and I'll take care of the inter-continental Floo charges. It'll be worth it just to get away."

Ron's expression fell. "Oh. So you want to live, like, in the country?"

The raven-haired teen nodded. "Yeah. Don't you?"

Ron shook his head. "Nope. I had enough of that living at the Burrow. I want to try being in the city for awhile." He grinned at Hermione. "And if you accept at that one Wizarding uni, you'll be going to school in London. That means-"

"Don't even think about it, Ronald." Hermione said in a warning voice, her voice lower than it was before. "I told you 'no'. I'm not moving in with you. Not until we're married and not a day sooner."

"Or a night sooner." Harry mumbled behind his mug of butterbeer, earning him a swat from Hermione, which caused the trio the break out in hopeless giggles.

This is just how it should be, Harry thought as he laughed with his best friends. Innocent and happy... _even though we're not laughing about innocent things._

It felt just like third-year, when Harry had sneaked into Hogsmeade under the invisibility cloak. They had been having fun at that stage. Really, that's what their world had revolved around. Having fun, trying to get good grades, and adventure. None of it had seemed too real at that point, the danger and heartbreak that they would soon have to deal with. But now all of that was over, and they could just have fun.

"You know, it could be a good idea." Ron said, his face bright red as he struggled not to laugh. "Harry could move in as well and-"

"Stop it!" Hermione gasped, leaning over the table as she tried to contain herself. "Can't. Breathe. Stomach. Hurts."

"Maybe-"

"Stop!" Harry laughed, getting up from his seat and wrapping his arms around Hermione, bringing her to sit next to him. "Let her calm down, before you kill her. For all I know, you're tickling her from underneath the table."

Hermione laughed again, leaning her head against Harry's shoulder, casually. "I think we've had a little too much butterbeer." She giggled.

"You can't get drunk off butterbeer." Harry pointed out.

"Yeah, but you never know what Ron might have slipped in it." Hermione returned, eyes twinkling.

"Me?" Ron gasped. "Hermione, I can't believe you would accuse me of-"

"Last Quidditch match. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. We won. You spiked the-" Harry was interrupted by Hermione.

"Ssh! If McGonagall finds out it was him, he's expelled!" Hermione hissed, looking fervently around them. Luckily, no one of importance seemed to hear. "Just the three of us know this. And Ginny. And Luna. And-"

"-and just about all of Gryffindor." Harry pointed out.

Ron shrugged. "She can't expel me; I'm Harry Potter's best mate."

That much was true. Sure, the Scottish Headmistress did not set much store by what other people thought, but the Board of Governors did. And they would not let Harry Potter's best friend leave the school, even if he wanted to.

They were all starting to discover what it meant to be them, to be heroes. To be Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger. To be The Golden Trio. To be Harry Potter and Co. It was really something, to be treated like celebrities. Ron had soaked it up when the attention first started to shower, whilst Hermione and Harry just ducked their heads. But even Ron now was getting tired of all the attention and just wanted everything back to normal. Or, 'back to normal'. Things hadn't been 'normal' for them in a long time.

"Guys?" Harry asked, absently tracing a mark on the table where a goblet had been left too long and had left a circle water stain. "Do you think..." How to word it? Ron and Hermione would end up getting married someday, he knew. And everybody else he knew would be happy... but what about him? Would he spend the rest of his life lonely, dodging reporters and fans and well-wishers at every turn?

"Do we think what?" Hermione asked, looking at Harry, who was now seated to her left.

Harry coloured. "I'm going to sound like a total ponce but-"

"-you normally do anyway." Ron teased.

"Thanks." Harry said, sarcastically. "I was just going to ask... where do you think I'll be in, say, twenty years?" In twenty years. In twenty years, he would be thirty-eight. At thirty-eight, hopefully he would have a wife and a ton of kids. They would live in a nice country house with a big yard and picket fence. They'd have a cat, but no dog (he had met few dogs that had liked him). They'd be the happiest people in the whole world... except that sounded way too much like a fairy tale to be true.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Well, at thirty-eight... hmmm." she was quiet for a moment. "I've never really thought about it."

Ron rolled his eyes. "We all know you're pants at Divination, Hermione. We didn't need a demonstration." He looked at Harry and shrugged. "Probably married, with a brat or two. Or seventeen. You'll probably have more kids than you know what to do with. Like that Muggle nursery rhyme, about the old lady who lives in the pillow."

"Shoe." Hermione corrected.

"Whatever."

That answer wasn't good enough. Harry could figure that one out on his own. "But do you think I'll be _happy_?" He asked.

Concern flooded Hermione's face. "Aren't you happy now, Harry?"

He shrugged. Was he? He didn't know. He wasn't _depressed_. "Is it too much for you guys to reassure me or something?"

Hermione looked sympathetic. "I'm not going to lie to you, Harry, but with your luck so far in life, who knows? You've just got to buckle up for the ride."

"What?" Ron demanded.

"Muggle saying." Harry said in a monotone voice, staring at the wall. "Means 'hold on tight'."

"Oh. 'Grab hold of your broomstick'." Ron said, knowledgeably.

"That could be taken in so many ways." Harry smirked, despite his somewhat sober feelings.

Hermione swatted them as the boys began to snigger. "Honestly, why do I even spend time with you two?"

_Do not say 'cause we're the only friends you've got'_, Harry pleaded silently to Ron, who thankfully got the message and didn't say anything.

"So, you guys think I'm going to meet 'the one' and settle down. I'll spend the rest of my life in a semi-happy way?" That sounded... not promising, but not _bad_.

Hermione shook her head. "There might not be 'the one', Harry. That's just a romantic notion that-"

"Hey!" Ron butted in. "What are you talking about? Are you trying to say that there's no such thing as soul mates?" He looked like someone had just told him that the Chudley Cannons had just lost that season - devastated.

Hermione shook her head. "I just don't like that saying, 'the one'. What of my parents? Were they not meant for each other? Have they just wasted the last twenty years of their life, because they did not marry the right 'ones'?"

Hermione had a point. Her parents, after returning from Australia and getting the Memory Charm lifted, soon filed for divorce. They hadn't been getting along for awhile, but the stress of what they went through, discovering that they lost a year of their lives, took the cake. Hermione had blamed herself for the longest time.

"And what about people whose spouses die? Were they not 'the one'? If they were, and their partner gets remarried, does that mean he or she is making a mistake?" Hermione was too practical for her own good, sometimes.

"Well, that makes it 'the two'." Ron said, simply. "And since Wizards and Witches don't get divorces-"

"They don't?" Harry interjected. "Get divorces, I mean?"

"Well, they do, but it's pretty rare." Ron said, a proud look coming over his face. That look came over his face whenever he knew something that Harry and Hermione didn't. "It's looked down on. It's improper, scandalous, even. It makes the papers when it happens. It's that big of a deal. And those who do get divorces are usually Muggleborns, who grew up having that as an option. Most just agree to have affairs in the background of things, and to keep appearances up."

"That's disgusting." Hermione said, her nose upturned.

Ron just shrugged. "Even Half-Bloods do it. It's not just a Pureblood 'we're better than everyone' custom. My family is nothing special in the eyes of the Wizarding world, but if one of us kids ever got divorced, Mum would have our heads. It's just a Wizarding custom to not have it be an option."

Well, that just plain sucked. So now, if Harry did end up making a marital mistake, he would be stuck with her. Not that he wouldn't try to stick it out and make the best of it in the first place, but it still was a depressing realisation.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had a lot to think about. A life to outline and plan. He was just wasting time, day after day. He needed to do something!

He stood up and placed his money for his butterbeer on the table. "I'm going to go back to the castle early. You guys enjoy yourselves, 'kay?" He'd get some coffee cake and pumpkin juice from the elves, go to his hiding place under the stairs, and plot. He'd be alone and without disturbance. Maybe he could practise one of those music-making spells to, so that he could plan to bad Musak,

"Alone? Harry, are you ill?" Hermione reached up and felt his scarred forehead, searching for a fever.

He smiled weakly at her concern. "No; I'm just a little unwell, is all."

**Coming soon in _Unwell...  
_Chapter Twenty-Seven: _The Ministry For Magic_**


	27. The Ministry For Magic

******Disclaimer: **I do not own "Harry Potter", or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

**Chapter Twenty-Seven  
"The Ministry for Magic"**

* * *

"Absolutely not." McGonagall said, firmly. "I will not allow you two to go trampling off in London on a school day."

It was the next morning, bright and early, before breakfast. Ron, Hermione, and Harry had formulated a somewhat simple plan; go to the Ministry, let Kingsley know they were there so that they could have more than a simple "visitor's pass", then go to level four, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the Being Division. There, they would talk to people, search files, to find out what happened to Snape. According to the books Hermione had been reading, all slaves that had lived in Britain, no matter how long, for the past one thousand years, had a record, assuming that their owners registered their slave with the Ministry, which was law. Snape would most certainly be in there.

"Our last class is Potions, and we're skiving off for keeps, remember?" Harry reminded McGonagall. "And we asked Professor Flitwick if we could skive off Charms, and he said 'yes', so long as we study our textbooks. It's just lecture, today."

Trying to ask your Head of House for permission to leave school on a weekday was harder than Harry thought it would be. The lines in McGonagall's face were tight – she seemed to be restraining herself from an outburst at the very idea of students asking permission to leave for a day. But it was not as if Harry was going to make a practise out of it. Asking, that was.

"Nevertheless, you are students here. We are not in the practise of-"

Ron nudged Harry. Harry knew what that nudge meant. It meant 'you're the Golden Boy - you do the talking'.

"Look, Professor, we wouldn't normally ask, except this is very important. We're just going to the Ministry and back - we'll be back before curfew. It's important." He looked at McGonagall pleadingly through his glasses. "It's something I _have_ to do. It's not as if we'll get lost - last year, I learned the Ministry's layout inside and out."

McGonagall stared at the two of them for a long time. Harry could just imagine what was running through her head. It likely had something to do with 'the poor boy has been through so much. He is just trying to help poor Severus...' and something that went along the lines of 'Potter has to have an adventure every year, doesn't he?'

"Mr. Weasley, I hardly see why you have to accompany Potter." She said, finally.

"Er, well..." Ron stuttered. "I'm his sidekick, you see? A hero never goes anywhere without his sidekick. It's kind of like... protection. Bodyguard. I'm his body guard." He drew himself up importantly, which was hardly necessary since he was already so much taller and broader than Harry.

McGonagall turned to Harry. "Is this necessary, Potter? I am sure you could just owl Minister Shacklebolt and-"

Harry shook his head. "It's going to involve going through files and asking a bunch of people different stuff. Hermione has already gotten the plan entirely drawn out. We don't want to distract Kingsley from his job or anything." Actually, it had more to do with the fact that they could get more accomplished without Kingsley in the way than with.

The Headmistress did not seem convinced. "Potter, why are you doing this?"

That was a question he hadn't anticipated. "I don't know what you mean, Professor." He said.

"Why are you so determined to help Severus?" Her eyes narrowed underneath her spectacles. "I was not under the impression that the two of you were very close."

"We're... er... not." Harry admitted. "But he sent me a letter asking for my help, you know. I told you about that. And I have to help him, Professor. I... I have to."

"Have you ever considered the idea that that letter could be a trap?" She asked him pointedly. "If Severus were to code something like that, I am sure it would be in a much more sophisticated manner."

"Except..." Harry said slowly, "except that the letter was addressed to me. And we all know how Snape thinks of me. He needed to make it simple, so that I'd notice it." _You didn't. _Hermione_ noticed it._

"I suppose I cannot remind you to call him 'Professor Snape' now." she said wearily, sitting down in her chair behind the desk. Her eyes conveyed her age. She looked up at Harry. "Potter, I cannot describe what I saw at that auction, but I promise you that Severus is no longer the man we once knew. He is gone."

"Gone?" Harry repeated, tonelessly. What could the woman possibly mean by _gone_? They knew he was gone - they'd known that for months! That's what Harry was trying to do - he was trying to _find_ him!

"Potter, he was not there. Physically, yes, he was. But not in here." she tapped her forehead. "He seemed nearly oblivious to his surroundings, as if he barely remembered who I was, as if he were _scared_ of me." she shook her head. "I do not know what happened to him, what curses they've placed on him, but at this point, it would be even more cruel to try to-"

"What about here?" Ron spoke up finally, putting his hand on his chest, over his heart. "Even if he has gone round the twist, Professor, with all due respect, we can't just _leave_ him. He need tender loving care, as Mum likes to call it. Even if he is terrified of us, at least he'll be _safe_. Leaving him crazy with people who control every move he makes... come on, Professor. We just can't leave him like that. What happened to Gryffindor honour? Loyalty? He needs help, and as long as we're able, why not? It can only help."

Harry gaped at Ron, not knowing whether to ask him if he were on Polyjuice or give him a bone-breaking hug. He hadn't expected Ron to _ever_ make such a speech in his life... and especially not in Snape's defence.

McGonagall seemed equally as surprised. But she quickly recovered. "You know, Lucius Malfoy stopped by the a few weeks ago."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What'd he want?"

"He seemed to know we were searching for Severus. He came and begged me not to bother, that Severus was like a little brother to him, and that the best thing we could do for him was to let Severus die in peace. That he had been through enough pain."

"That sounds like a Slytherin thing to do." Ron muttered, but Harry's elbowed him to get him to shut up. That actually made a lot of sense. If someone was in a huge amount of physical pain, it would be kinder to let them die instead of trying to keep them alive, in some circumstances.

"I have to admit, he has a point." McGonagall shook her head. "Nearly the entire Order has given up, except for your family, Mr. Weasley, of course. It seems only right to-"

"To what, Professor?" Harry asked. "To let him suffer? Because I've heard a lot about Snape being in mental and emotional pain, but no one mentioned that he was physically dying here." He did not mention the sexual abuse he knew Snape was suffering - he hadn't mentioned that to anyone yet. Not Hermione, Ron, Ginny... nobody. If he couldn't get Snape out, at least people could have their last memory of Snape be... well, levitated out of the Great Hall, but someone who defended himself until several Aurors got the best of him. They did not need such an undignified image in their heads.

She looked up at Harry. Harry could see tears threatening to spill over. "We've failed him, Harry." She said, using his given name for one of the first times. "We failed him."

Harry shook his head. "We haven't failed him until we've given up, Professor. And Gryffindors don't give up. Not ever."

* * *

Harry felt a shudder run through him as they walked down the long corridor to Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. He couldn't help but think of all these halls had given him in the not-quite eight years that he knew about the Wizarding world. The Wizengamot, then Umbridge, then Sirius... not to mention all the hell they went through last year...

"Hey, mate; it's okay." Ron's deep voice comforted Harry quietly and discreetly as they walked. He placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "We're just here to see Kingsley. No wild goose chases, no death... just Kingsley."

Harry smiled and nodded. He really was blessed to have such caring friends. "Yeah, I know." He said. He cleared his throat and Ron dropped his hand. "So the plan is to go to Kingsley's office first, and ask him for badges that will let us in most places in the Beings Division."

"Right." Ron returned as they turned a sharp corner. "Then we go to that floor and ask for a name that Kingsley will probably give us. Someone that could help us find what we're looking for." He paused as a gaggle of nuns passed through, who were clearly lost. "All we need to know is the name of Snape's owner, right, Harry?"

Harry nodded, looking down at the piece of parchment, Hermione's simple instructions clearly written on it. She hadn't seen the need for all of them to go to the Ministry. She had a big Arithmancy quiz that day. But she made them promise to owl her straight-away, before Apparating back to Hogwarts even, should anything unusual happen, or should they find anything worthwhile out.

"Excuse me," Ron came up behind a short man who came up no taller than Ron's hip. "Can you tell me where to find the Minister's office?"

The little man opened his mouth, an astounding deep voice coming out. "You're right in front of it, blockhead."

Ron turned crimson. "Thanks." He squeaked.

Harry put his arm on Ron's elbow. "Um... okay. So we just... knock?"

They knocked on the large oak door, which swung open. It revealed a simple room with beige walls, simple carpet, with a desk in the middle, which was covered in letters and parchment. A young woman sat at the desk, furiously writing with a quill.

"Excuse me." Harry said. "Er..." _I thought this was Kingsley's office? _He glanced at Ron nervously. "Is the Minister in?"

"He's busy." she snapped at Harry.

_Somebody has an attitude problem. _He exchanged glances with Ron, who shrugged. "Well, can you tell him we stopped by then?"

She waved her hand in the air, as if she couldn't care less.

_You have to say something! Anything! You need to see Kingsley! _"The thing is, you see, is that I'm a friend of his, and-"

"You and everyone else, lummox." She said, easily. "Do you know how many people I get in here, day after day, requesting to see the Minister?"

Ron appeared to not be able to take it anymore. "But he's Harry Potter!"

The secretary scoffed. "As if I haven't heard that one every day of the-" she glanced up, appearing to intend on returning to her work, but the gaze stuck. "Merlin's beard, it is!" she gasped, getting up from her desk, eyes wide open. "Oh, Mr. Potter! Forgive me for my behaviour! I thought you were-"

"It's all right, it's all right." Harry assured her. The lean woman stood at at least six feet, which caused her to tower over Harry by a good many inches.

The woman began smoothing her hair back, and batting her eyes. "Mr. Potter, I cannot tell you how much I've wanted to meet you. You're-"

"Have you something in your eye?" Harry asked, cocking his head to see her eyes better.

Ron nudged Harry hard in the ribs, while the woman laughed a fake laugh. "Oh, you are the funny one, Mr. Potter. You can call me Melanie." She beamed.

Harry nodded awkwardly. "Melanie. Well... is the Minister in?"

Her dazed expression fell, and she nodded. "Through that door." She said quietly, pointing to a door in her office that had not been there moments ago.

"Thanks." Harry smiled hesitantly as he went for the door, Ron at his side. Melanie breathed a dramatic sigh as they went through the Minister's office.

"Merlin's beard, Harry, you get all the girls!" Ron enthused as they shut the door behind them. "Did you see her? She was practically falling over herself to meet you!"

"Really? I didn't notice." Harry said absently, looking around the empty office for the big black Order member. _Where is he? There's his desk, his chair... the plaque on the desk that says _Kingsley Shacklebolt – Minister for Magic_... where is he?_

"And what was that? 'Have you something in your eye'?" Ron laughed in amusement. "Harry, she was batting her eyes at you! Trying to get you to notice her!"

"Huh?" Harry asked, concluding that perhaps Kingsley was out for an early luncheon.

Ron shook his head. "Harry, if you want to find a proper girlfriend, you're going to have to pay more attention."

"Hmm." Was all Harry felt like saying in reply. He was well-aware of his "girl problems", but he could hardly let himself focus on that right now. He could always set aside some "Harry time" for later. Now was the time to help someone else.

That seemed to happen a lot.

"Hey, you reckon the bird tricked us?" Ron asked, just now seeming to notice that Kingsley wasn't there. He picked up a paperweight and turned it over in his hands. "Maybe this isn't Kingsley's office. Maybe it's really-"

"No, it's Kingsley's office." Harry said. "It's _got_ to be. Maybe-"

"Well, Harry! Ron! What a surprise." Kingsley's voice bellowed behind them.

The two teens whirled around to see the Minister and Order member standing behind them, in front of the fireplace, dusting ash off his robes. He had come in through the Floo.

"Sorry for barging in uninvited, Kingsley." Harry said, sheepishly. "We were kind of in a hurry to find you."

Kingsley's eyes narrowed. "Really? What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Harry and Ron said together.

"Then?" Kingsley raised a brow, sitting at his desk.

"Well, nothing that requires duelling and hexing, least ways." Harry relented, taking a seat opposite Kingsley. Ron slid into the other armchair. "See, we got this letter from Snape yesterday."

"Is that so?" Kingsley folded his hands across his desk, his attention on Harry.

Harry nodded. "Well, I did. And it had a weird code on it that Hermione noticed." He decided not to mention that the letter had been "supposedly" penned by Mr. Weston.

"A weird code?" Kingsley repeated.

"Well, yeah." Ron spoke up, pulling a piece of parchment out of his robes and handing it to Kingsley. It was a version of the letter that Hermione had copied onto another piece of parchment, using a simple spell. "See? All the letters that are incorrectly capitalized spell a message."

"'Pleae'?" Kingsley looked over the letter, his mouth forming the words before speaking them out loud. "What does 'pleae' mean?"

_Oh, right. _"Um, we figure it means 'please'. Just a mistake and all that." Harry said, hurriedly.

"'Please help me. I am sorry. Please'?" He looked over at Harry. "And this letter was addressed to you?"

Harry nodded. "See, Snape and I kind of hate each other. Well, we did hate each other – he might still hate me, but I don't _hate_ him anymore. But I kind of think that that's why he said 'sorry'. Because he's desperate, you know, and needs my help."

"Ginny figured that one out." Ron pointed out needlessly.

Kingsley just ignored Ron. "Because Severus would never ask for help otherwise."

"Well... no." Harry said slowly. "I mean, he's not really the type, you know?"

Kingsley sighed. "I don't believe this letter is from him, Harry."

The green eyes nearly popped out of their skull. "What? What do you mean? It's his handwriting! It's got to be from him!"

The Minister nodded. "But you did not see what I saw, Harry. George Weasley let me look at the memories of both the night before the auction and the actual auction. Severus wasn't-"

"I know, I know. He wasn't the same person as before." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Then you see the implausible quality of your argument."

"No, we don't." Ron intervened again. "That was months ago, and we know he took one of those Potions that make you sleep like the dead the night before. Maybe now he has come to a point where he is begging for our help."

"Then how do you explain the letter we got a few weeks ago, telling us that he didn't need our help?"

"Er... Weston told him to write that?" Harry pointed out.

"Severus has a head on his shoulders, Harry. He wouldn't do something someone told him to do if it would ruin his cause. If someone told you to jump off a cliff, would you?"

Harry couldn't help but smirk. "Would I? I'd most likely be the one leading the way."

Ron snorted, but Kingsley didn't seem to see the humour and truth in the remark. "I am not discounting all possibilities of this letter being from Severus, or someone with Severus' well-being in mind, but I am concerned of why it is addressed to _you_, of all people. Why would Mr. Weston want to harm you, assuming he had the letter penned with this code?"

Harry toyed with the idea of telling Kingsley that Snape no longer belonged to Weston, but decided against it. That would definitely create problems. Kingsley would trust Weston more than he would an unknown figure.

"He wouldn't." Harry said easily. "I had a long conversation with him just the other day. He knows that Snape wrote the letter, but he doesn't know about the hidden message." Actually, Harry didn't know if that was true, but saying that Mr. Weston had no knowledge of the letter certainly wouldn't go over well. Kingsley was just being overly paranoid.

"Actually, all Harry and I wanted to do was to go to the fourth level and read through Snape's file. See if we can't notice something we hadn't noticed before." Ron said.

"I highly doubt there is anything." Kingsley said. "I looked over the files myself. I promise you, if there were any loopholes, any-"

"I'm _me_." Harry reminded Kingsley. "I _always_ find the loopholes."

* * *

"This is ridiculous." Ron muttered as the security guards scanned them outside the Beings Division. "If they didn't spot any weapons on us last time they scanned us, or the time before, then why-"

"Shut it, Ron." Harry muttered back as the security guards gave them the clear. "We don't want them to suspect anything of us." Harry said, jerking open the door. "You know security is so much higher after the whole Voldemort thing."

Ron just scoffed. "Right. And why couldn't we just take a piece of lint out of our pockets and transfigure it into a knife if we wanted to hurt someone? Or use the Killing Curse?"

Harry shrugged. "Beats me. When has the Ministry ever made sense?"

"_Touche_." Ron said. The corridor they were walking down, the area of the Ministry of Magic reserved for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the Being Division, was simple. The floor was tiled brown, and the walls a sick pale green. There were brown doors that likely led to offices, or worse, more corridors.

_Magical creatures..._ Harry shook his head. _They define humans as creatures. That is just... sickening._ He had been told thousands of times since second-year by Hermione how slaves and House-Elves were not seen as humans, as things that had feelings, or deserved emotions, but it hadn't really meant anything, not until the whole Snape thing came along. House-Elves were one thing – they had it in their blood to want to serve their Masters. It was second-nature to them, like breathing and magic was to Wizards. That didn't make unfair treatment right, but S.P.E.W could hardly control that.

But slaves... that was a different matter, entirely. They were seen as both Wizards and Slaves as a breed, like Harry was seen as both a Wizard and a Human. _And maybe for some of them, that's okay, _Harry reasoned as they moseyed down the corridor, not really knowing where to go, as Kingsley hadn't recommended any names or told them specifically where to go. _The ones with the curses to obey their owners' every word, like House-Elves... they aren't really human... are they?_ Harry didn't know. He hadn't memorized everything Hermione had told him. That spell didn't apply to Snape, so Harry had tuned her out. He and Ron had gotten very good at tuning her out, over the years.

"Why don't we stop and ask someone?" Harry spoke, his voice echoing down the hall.

Ron blanched. "You think we should? Ask for directions, I mean."

Harry shrugged. "Why not?"

His friend snorted. "Because they might think we're stupid?" At Harry's puzzled look, Ron elaborated. "Men don't ask for directions, Harry."

"They just fumble around, lost and looking... stupid?" Harry shook his head. "I think I missed the 'how to act like a man' manual. It might have been delivered to your house on your seventeenth birthday, but on mine, I was too busy dealing with _Priori Incantum_ and my familiar _dying_ to check for it."

Ron shook his head, smiling slightly. "There's no manual, Harry. And don't worry – you're not girly at all. You just don't know some of the rules."

"You don't think this woman in here will mind if I ask for directions, then?" Harry raised his hand to knock on the door. "Surely she'll understand my lack of... knowledge."

Ron seemed to disappear into the wall. "Oh, Merlin, Harry. Don't let her know I'm here, 'kay? She'll think I'm asking for directions, too."

Harry could only scoff. "You've got a girlfriend, Ron. You don't need to worry about impressing the girls." Just the same, he placed a Disillusionment charm on his best friend, if only just for laughs.

"Come in." A busy voice called.

Harry popped open the door and stuck his head in. "Hallo, miss. I was just wondering-"

"Hold on. Just a minute." The person sitting at the desk pulled their head up from a stack of files. "Oh, hello, Mr. Potter. How may I help you?" The woman got up and shook hands with Harry, bowing deeply several times. She remained calm in voice, even though she treated Harry like a saviour. Which Hermione said he technically was, even though he didn't feel like it. How was a saviour supposed to feel?

"I am looking for information on a slave." Harry said seriously. He paused, "A human slave." He continued. "I'm... I'm not really sure where to look, though."

"Oh, of course!" The woman said. "Are you the owner of this slave?"

Harry shook his head. "I hope to be soon, though. It's... kind of complicated." He fiddled with the badge pinned to his chest. "Kings- Minister Shacklebolt gave me free reign of the archives, though." He couldn't help but feel proud of that. It was not many people who got free reign of the archives of anything.

"Well, in that case, you're going to want to talk to Marcel." She pointed back up the hall, from where they just came. "About six doors down, on the left. Just tell him what you told me. He'll probably want to Floo the Minister or his secretary, just to verify your permissions, and you're free to go." She looked down at her shoes. "Mr. Potter, I want to thank you. My... my husband was killed by You-Know-Who, but our children... our two children _survived_. And it's all because of _you_!" She grasped his hand in thanks.

Harry nodded, turning slightly red at the praise. "Thank you, miss, but really, you should thank my mum. And Severus Snape. They did all the work."

* * *

"_Accio _Snape, Severus file." Marcel, the Asian man with greying hair pointed his wand lazily at a cabinet. The drawer marked 'S' opened slightly and a file came sliding out, the drawer shutting behind it. The folder landed in Marcel's hand.

Marcel eyed Harry and Ron carefully. "I don't know if I should be letting you look at these."

"The Minister said we could." Ron said, shifting his weight on his left foot, trying to get the robe to cover it more thoroughly. The disillusionment charm, while it had been kind of funny to cast it, hadn't quite worn off on that leg.

"I'm well aware." Marcel said. "But do you know how much time I've spent organizing these files?"

_Well, using magic... three minutes tops. _"No sir, but I bet you do a good job at it." Harry said, pushing his fringe back, trying to appear nonchalant. It didn't work.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, I know who you are." The man snapped. "And quite frankly, I don't care. These aren't your files to look through."

Ron and Harry looked at each other. As best of best friends, they could send messages without speaking sometimes. They one they exchanged clearly said;

_Well, Harry, that didn't work. Seems he's invincible to your charm._

_I knew it wouldn't work on everyone! Now shut it and think of a plan!_

"Er... you see, this is life-debt stuff." Harry said, trying to tap into his Slytherin skills which were deeply submerged in him. _Deeply_ submerged. Sometimes they were so deeply in him, he could deny they were there, with the exception of his Parseltongue. "I kind of owe someone a debt, and if I don't get the information I need, I can't fulfill that debt, and-"

"Is it an Unbreakable Vow debt?" Marcel snapped.

Harry flinched slightly, startled by the question. "Um... no, I don't-"

"Then you'll survive." Marcel said coolly.

"He might not." Ron spoke up, causing Marcel and Harry to look at him with a surprise.

The Gryffindor boldly continued. "See, there is a long history of life-debts going on between the Potter family and this other... person." Ron coughed. "See, I don't rightly know the story much myself, so I don't know who saved who first, but I'm under the impression that at some point, a Potter saved this person's life, so this person owed a life-debt, you see. And he kind of went over the top with it, so now Harry here owes a life-debt to this person." Ron shrugged. "This person and Harry both have really strong magic. I know normal life-debts don't kill, but Harry's and Sn- this other person's... well, let's just say I'm helping Harry because I don't want to be known as the person who got in the way of the life-debt which ultimately killed Harry Potter."

That was a lie if Harry had ever heard one. But it kinda helped.

Marcel's eyes narrowed. "You realize that the information in this file is highly confidential information."

Harry nodded. "Look, I don't want to see anything that has to do with anyone's Gringotts accounts or anything. I just want to see a... debriefing sheet on the slave, really."

"Debriefing sheet?"

"Yeah, you know, what county he lives in, who owns him, how many times he has been sold, if he's still alive..." Harry's voice trailed. "And etcetera."

Marcel opened the folder and passed a piece of paper to Harry wordlessly. "Don't wrinkle the parchment." He snapped when Harry grabbed it.

* * *

_Name: Severus Tobias Snape_

_Birth date: January 9th, 1960_

_Date of enslavement: September 2nd, 1998 (Death Eater)_

_Languages spoken: English, Latin_

_Current owner: Christoffer König – Burgdorf, Germany_ (o_wned under the name Severus Tobias Snape)_

_Past owners:Richard Weston, Christina Weston – London, England (owned under the name Severus Tobias Snape)  
Nigel Mering – Surrey, England (owned under the name Severus Tobias Mering)  
The Ministry for Magic, Britain_

_ID Number: 73682759378429031960_

* * *

There was more information on that piece of parchment than Harry expected. Who knew that Snape spoke Latin? Got a 'T' in Divination (though succeeded in every other subject)? Had Italian heritage? That his wand had a core of dragon heartstring, which he bought on July 20th, 1971?

"Look, he is an Animagus. A raven." Harry showed his friend excitedly. He had a fondness for anything and everything Animagi. He hoped to learn how to someday, but had never found the time. His father had been a stag, and his godfather a Grim-like dog. Their friend, who Harry considered a substitute-godfather, had been a werewolf, so he hadn't been able to take an Animagus form.

"And unregistered, too." Ron pointed to another space on the parchment. "At least until they made him a slave? Reckon he tried to fly away?"

"I don't know." Harry bit his lip. "I wonder how they caught him."

"Slaves are not humans – they can be summoned as easily as a piece of parchment. Namely, the one in your hand." Marcel said impatiently.

"Hold on, we're almost done." Ron scoffed. "His current collar, see there? A _Jolt XR 3000_? What's that?"

"I don't know if I want to know." Harry said uneasily. "I'm gonna have to get him a collar, right?"

"Unless they sell him with one, yeah. It's the law." Ron said with a shrug. "Reckon we should write some of this down?"

Harry nodded, pulling a spare piece of parchment from his pocket and beginning to write on it, borrowing a quill from Marcel's desk, which Marcel did not sound like he approved of. What he copied down was simple;

_Christoffer König – Burgdorf, Germany._

"Thank you, Mr. Marcel." Harry said, passing the parchment back to the man. "We really appreciate it."

"Is this what you owe a life-debt to?" Marcel asked, looking through the folder in his hands.

Harry nodded, uncomfortably. "Yeah. Why?"

Marcel shrugged. "Ugly thing, isn't he?"

"You've got a picture?" Ron asked, his ginger eyebrows raised.

Harry walked behind Mering and leaned over his shoulder. Sitting in the folder was a snapshot of Snape. He was wearing his customary black robes, kneeling on the floor in a position Harry recognized from one of the many books they had looked through. One of dead submission, with head bowed, knees bent and apart, hands clasped... it made Harry sick to look at.

Marcel picked up the photo and read something on the back of it. "Taken on September 2nd, 1998. The day he became a slave, no?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, that's the day."

Marcel shrugged. "Well, this is something I can make copies of. Can't hurt. You want it?" He offered the photo to Harry.

The eighteen-year-old backed away, shaking his head. "Er, no thanks. You keep it. Thanks." That said, he bolted out of Marcel's office, feeling as if he were about to hurl.

Harry Potter had seen a lot of things in his lifetime. A lot of blood, a lot of gore, a lot of death. He had known a lot of pain, both physical and emotional, and knew what suffering was. He had dreamed of seeing his Potions professor in many positions, such as six-feet underground or begging Albus Dumbledore for forgiveness for killing him... but never in his life did he dream of seeing Snape so vulnerable. Seeing such a proud man give up so much... Harry now understood why the Order had made such a fuss about Snape's changed personality at the auction. But like a true Gryffindor, that only encouraged his efforts to find the man.

* * *

_Time. The continuum of experience in which events pass from the future through the present to the past. A period of time considered as a resource under one's control and sufficient to accomplish something..._

_Time hardly existed for him. The only time that existed for him was when he was hiding and trying to sleep, or when he was being violated and tortured. There was nothing else. Nothing else existed. Just Pain. Thirst – he had long forgotten about hunger, as his stomach no longer felt like it was going to turn itself out if it did not get food. It felt merely... Empty._

_Pain. Thirst. Blood. Darkness. Pain. Fatigue. Fear. Emptiness. Pain. Cold. Sweat. Tears. Pain._

**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**  
**Chapter Twenty-Eight: _A Feral Prisoner_**


	28. A Feral Prisoner

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight  
****"A Feral Prisoner"**

Frederick glanced up at the sun out the window and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Only February, and yet, he felt as if he were on the beach, on the hottest day of the year. Then again, after all the lifting, hefting, moving, and barricading he had had to do in the past several hours, just to get into the small house, he should be sweating like a pig.

He glanced around the kitchen, where other officers were dutifully gathering evidence. Finally, after sixty years, they had the drug bust of the century. Somebody had been marketing some form of underground drugs, for decades, to various parts of Europe. The drug, which did not medically have a name, as it had a substance in it that even the most talented researchers could not figure out, was highly dangerous. Taken in very small doses, it would send one into a state of euphoria. However, any more than the tiniest pinch at a time would drive one permanently mentally insane, or even kill one.

They had found a drug trafficker in Poland, selling untold quantities of the pink sugar-like substance. The man, who spoke with a Russian accent, would not give a word as to what the drug was, where it was made at, or any other information. He had sealed his mouth shut, and had not uttered a word since his arrest. However, by putting his picture up on various news stations, they finally got several reports that he had been seen in the Burgdorf area. Burgdorf, of all places. Such a small, remote town... the perfect place to make and package up drugs. No one would suspect anyone in Burgdorf.

Earlier that morning, they had found fourteen people in the house. Three they managed to arrest, but the others escaped... _somehow_. They had had the house surrounded.

They attempted to arrest an old man who had to be at least seventy or eighty. He looked it in the face, at least. He had the agility of a sixteen-year-old, though, and had escaped. His identity was still being found out. Frederick, after years on the job, knew it would only be a matter of hours, days or weeks.

A few satellite images of the place made it to be a much bigger case than a drug bust, however. In the backyard, there were several pits dug. Only a few moments of digging and a few German Shepherds later, they had pulled up human bones from the partially filled in pits. Hundreds upon hundreds of human bones. And that was only in the pits – they were scattered in the large backyard, as well. The pigsty in the back was just beginning to get checked, but Frederick would not delude himself into thinking that there would be no gore found there.

Just what would an eighty-year-old German, and a fifty-year-old Russian, amongst others, want with drugs and dead bodies? Both things were criminal, but usually did not go hand in hand. It was a mystery the entire world was waiting to hear about – and the entire case rested on Frederick's shoulders.

The ground floor of the house was normal enough. Yes, there were all sorts of strange pots and fumes in just about every room of the house, but those had been quickly wrapped up and taken in for further examination. The first floor was still being searched, as was the basement. Frederick hoped that all they would find both places would be more drugs – after they found that partially decomposed man stuffed into the washing machine, he did not know how much more he could take before having some sort of panic attack. It was not like there was an absurd amount of people suddenly gone missing in Germany, but where did all the bodies come from, then?

"Oh, Christ!" A younger man bolted out of the hallway, his eyes wide. "Bodies! Bodies! Hundreds of bodies! In the cupboard!"

Frederick walked into the hallway, to the cupboard under the stairs, where trained men had the situation under control. Oddly enough, there was no stench penetrating from anywhere in the house. Not the cupboard, not the backyard... nowhere. Even the pigsty, filled with four-hundred pound pigs and plenty of mud, did not smell at all. It was quite the oddity.

He watched as more photographs were taken, this time of the cupboard under the stairs and its contents. "How many?" He asked.

"It's filled," someone replied. "They look to be about two, three months old. The one closest to the door two weeks old, maybe. We'll need to have an autopsy done, to be sure."

Frederick nodded, not allowing himself feel any emotions towards the humans that had died under mysterious circumstances. If he let himself feel pity, sadness, anger, he would not be able to have the job he did. He had to set himself apart from the victims, from the human's natural need to grieve. Over the years, it had gotten easier. However, this grisly matter was-

"Schmidt? Downstairs. The basement. There's someone alive." his radio cackled urgently.

He pulled the radio off his belt. "A trafficker?"

"Uh, I don't think so. A prisoner, I think, or something. You're going to have to come down here."

Frederick's heart pounded. Someone was alive? Perhaps this person could enlighten them on what exactly the drug was, and where the old man had run off to. Maybe the person could tell them who all the dead people were, or how they died. Or at the very least, maybe they could rescue this person before the person's untimely demise.

* * *

The steps down to the basement were filthy, and creaked with each step. They were the type of stairs that you did not trust, that you were fully certain would break out from under you any moment.

He tried not to think about what lied under the steps. They had reportedly found several corpses stuffed underneath the basement steps. He was not sure if they had actually begun removing the remains, though. He had seen hundreds of dead bodies in his career, but it never got too much easier.

The smell of the basement was the most peculiar smell. It smelled of mould, mildew, the iron smell of blood, and the unmistakable acrid smell of burning rubber. Once one smelled the smell of burning flesh, one never forgot the smell.

Fredrick's stomach convulsed, but he continued his way down the steps into the cold basement.

The people in the basement were all clustered to the back left-hand corner of the rather spacious basement. They were all silent, except for the occasional murmur here and there.

"What's going on?" Frederick asked, weaving his way through the cluster of people, who thankfully parted so that he could get through.

His co-worker pointed to the corner. "He seems to be on the wild side. They're too afraid to get near him."

Frederick took the torch from his co-worker and beamed it towards the dark corner, squinting his eyes to see through the dim light in the basement, provided by old-fashioned torches on the wall. He could make out a huddled figure in the shadows, convulsively shaking.

"Male or female? Does it speak?" His questions were directed to his co-worker, who was directing things in the basement.

"Haven't gotten close enough to check yet. They are not answering our questions."

Frederick took a cautious step towards the person. "Hello," he said quietly, not taking his eyes off the huddled form. "What is it that you are doing down here?" He tried to keep his tone light. It seemed to be a rather dumb question to ask, though. It was the officers and investigators invading the person's private space. The person huddled in the corner should be asking that question.

As he got several feet closer, he was able to make out long and skeletal legs, leading up to an equally as skeletal body. The person was covered in lacerated cuts, and had many other painful looking marks and bruises covering their nude, dirty, and battered form. The person looked at Frederick with wide black eyes, fear radiating out of them. Their hair was a knotted nest in the back of their head – it looked to be black, but the lighting was so poor and the person so dirty that its true colouring would be impossible to tell.

"Are you all right?" Frederick asked softly, as if he were speaking to his five-year-old daughter's playmates. "Can you understand me?"

He did not dare get any closer. He was about eight feet apart from the person – man – and did not want to push it. He had had enough training to know to expect the unexpected. It would be better to take things slowly, rather than rush them.

He spoke without turning away from the figure. "Call an ambulance," he said out of the corner of his mouth. Whatever wound up happening, they would need some medical officials there to sedate and examine the person. The person was no doubt suffering from physical trauma, but mental ones as well.

The figure shifted ever so slightly. Frederick could make out what looked to be painful burns on the man's left thigh, wrist, and hand. They looked to be red and blistering, fresh. That would no doubt explain the smell of the burning flesh, though not the absence of the odour of decomposing bodies.

"It's safe here. You can come over here," Frederick continued to speak to the man. The presence of all the other people was likely making the man nervous, but there was not a lot Frederick could immediately do about that. "It's safe. We're going to take care of you, clean you up, get you some clothes, some food."

The man began to blather incoherently, his wide eyes taking in every motion in the basement. Frederick managed to pick up a few words he recognized as English, but nothing he could translate into anything meaningful.

"Does anyone hear speak English?" He called behind him. But that was a mistake – his raised voice seemed to have struck a chord with the man in the corner, which compelled the man to hug his knees even tighter to his chest and press his forehead into his knees. A soft whimper escaped from the man's thin and ghastly pale lips.

Frederick bit his lip as he noticed a collar chaining the man to the wall by the man's neck. He was chained to the wall like a mongrel. Even if the man were capable of understanding the German Frederick spoke, he would not be able to come closer if he wanted to.

"Name?" He tried again, moving the slightest bit closer. "Name? Do you have a name?" He spoke slowly, hoping to draw the man out of his foetal position. He could see hip bones jarring out of the man's body, and each rib defined clearly on the skin that seemed to have seen much abuse and never sunlight.

The man began whimpering unintelligibly. Frederick was starting to doubt that he would be able to understand the man even if Frederick spoke English. Was the man sane, or even aware of his surroundings? What had happened to him to make him like this? Had he always been so _broken_?

"Does anyone have a biscuit?" He called to the group of people that had not dispersed from behind him. "A biscuit? A wafer? Something to lure him with?" He knew that the man would not be able to come to him, but perhaps he would let Frederick come closer if Frederick had food. It made Frederick's gut twist to think that this was the way he gave his dog his heart-worm medicine each month, by wrapping it in a piece of hamburger.

Someone came over and pressed a cracker into his hand before quickly scurrying off. Frederick held it out as he inched forward, staying in the squatted down position he was in, however uncomfortable. "Would you like a cracker?" He said kindly. "It's good."

The man's senses seemed to come alive when the cracker entered the scene. Frederick did not know how the man knew that he had gotten food, but the man seemed to be able to smell it from feet away. The man looked at the cracker, at Frederick, and then shrank back further into the shadows, if that was possible. He did not take his frightened eyes off of Frederick, though.

Frederick broke the cracker in half and made a big show of putting one half into his mouth. "Mmmm." He said as he chewed, rubbing his stomach, hoping to get the message across to the imprisoned Englishman. He came a little closer, holding out the half a cracker. Perhaps the man would take it. Did the man even know what a cracker was? How long had the man been down there? From the reddened marks around the man's wrists and ankles, he had dealt with a lot of cuffing in the past.

Frederick was beginning to despair. Would they have to resort to sedation and a straitjacket?

The man's nostrils flared as Frederick – and the cracker – came closer. The man began to struggle against his choker and chain, trying desperately to move out of the corner – and away from Frederick.

The crowd of workers gasped and all took a few steps back involuntarily.

"It's all right. We're going to help you." Frederick said softly, ceasing any movement. He kept his eyes focused on the barbaric man, who was like a scared animal, ready to run at any sign of a threat.

Frederick took another step forward. That was the final straw for the man in the corner, apparently. A gust of light blue light erupted from the man's body, pushing Frederick and everyone else in the basement back, causing them to fall down.

What happened next, Frederick would never remember. In fact, he would never remember the murder cases, the drug bust... none of it. No one who had heard about it would. Frederick would have nightmares for the rest of his life about a burst of light blue light, but he would never know where it came from.

**Coming soon in _Unwell..._****_  
_****Chapter Twenty-Nine:** **_The White Room_**


	29. The White Room

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine****  
****"The White Room"**

There were two kinds of fears: rational and irrational. In simpler terms, there were fears that made sense and fears that did not. He vaguely knew that, in the back of his mind, but it did not really matter. For him, fear was always useless, because bad things would happen to him whether he was afraid or not. He was unable to control the situations he was put in, so why did he fear? He did not know... perhaps it was his body's way of coping with uncertainty that made him want to hide in the darkest, most hidden corner he could. Perhaps it was his mind's way of dealing with situations that he could not fix.

If he were able to turn into his Animagus, life would be simpler. As a raven, he felt his emotions, he could think as himself... yet the animal instincts were there as well. Sometimes it was easier to deal with life in the form of an animal, as their emotions and thought processes were naturally different from a person's.

He wrapped his thin arms around himself, trying to keep himself from shaking as he sat in the white room. The room was completely white; the floor, the walls, the ceiling... the door was even painted white. He felt like he was trapped in a little white box, with little room to move. The room itself was not small, nor was it large. If he chose to, he would be able to walk around it, in circles. It might be good for him, but he did not want to. He couldn't.

He just sat in the corner and sat in the tightest ball he could, fighting the fatigue his brain felt. He had not slept in days... he needed to sleep. That potion that the doctors made him drink was supposed to make him feel tired and sluggish, but he could not afford to feel that way. He needed to be awake, in case someone came in.

He laid his head on his knees and tried to rest, keeping his eyes open. They hurt in the bright light of the room - he needed to shut them, and go to sleep. _Do not even think about it, _he told himself.

He was cold. He needed a warming charm, or perhaps even a blanket. He dreamily thought about covering up with a nice fleece blanket, and laying his head on perhaps a pillow. He fantasised about being able to sleep, to not have to worry about getting up. About sleeping and sleeping... about being allowed to do that, about not having to worry about someone waking you up, angry and ready to hurt you. Or perhaps just ready to use you. Or-

He shut his eyes hard as the empty white room began spinning. It hurt his head to think about things too much. Perhaps it would be safe to go to sleep... he would be all right. The Monster, as he had nicknamed his new master in his mind, would not come to get him.

_Apparently_ The Monster was a fugitive and on the run. _Apparently,_ The Monster had done something wrong, though what it was, he did not know. The people at the Ministry had not hurt him too badly yet - they had been really nice, actually. They had put cleansing charms on him, and had even given him something to wear, not unlike what House-Elves wore. But it was still something.

They had also covered his body in potions that had really hurt when spread on his infected skin. Severus recognized a lot of them and their smells. He knew the Ministry people were just trying to fix him up, but he could not help but resent them for it. They were attempting to heal him (which they couldn't do, as only his master could heal the injuries that he inflicted), and then what? He would go to another owner, who would hurt him all over again. He tried to assure himself that whatever happened to him, it could not be worse than The Monster. But that did not help him too much. Just thinking about The Monster scared him.

He opened his eyes to the bright light and shut them again. He had not seen much light in the years he spent at The Monster's. Just the light that came down the steps or the dim light the torches gave off. He did not know how much time he spent at The Monster's, actually, but he supposed it was a few years. He had been there a long time.

_Stay awake, stay awake, _he told himself, listening intently for the slightest sound. He could not hear any, but that did not mean he shouldn't be listening. If someone was to come in, he needed to be awake. He needed to know they were coming before they came in. If he did, he would be safer.

Things at The Monster's had been normal until the Muggles came. One time, he woke up from sleeping in his corner and The Monster was not there. That was not unusual, as The Monster spent a lot of time not in the basement, but he heard other sounds. People upstairs. That had scared him, because there was normally not a lot of noise at The Monster's on the floors above him. There was the American slave, who was not really a slave - he was just as mean as The Monster, or worse. The Monster let the American do whatever he wanted to him. Besides him, there were several other people – Severus did not know how many, for that had not mattered. He had stopped trying to tell them apart long ago. For the most part though, they remained upstairs. His main torturer was just The Monster.

Normally things were quiet. However, that day, there was a lot of noise. If anything out of the ordinary happened, that always meant something bad. Always.

Eventually, people had come to the basement. They all spoke a different language, German, he thought. He knew they were Muggles by their clothes, and the way they were using their lights - they did not have wands, but sticks with lights coming out of the end. Torches. Flashlights. He knew because his own father had had many of them, though they rarely worked. Their batteries were always dead.

When they found him, a man tried to come closer to him. He had had food with him and kept holding the cracker out. Severus could not understand what he was saying, or what he wanted. It was very confusing and overwhelming - The Monster did not speak much English himself, but his orders and wants were always clear. He knew when The Monster wanted him to do things, and what to do, though normally it did not require much on Severus' part but to survive, which was awfully hard as things went.

But the Muggle man... had he wanted Severus to eat the cracker? Was the cracker poisoned? What would the poison do? Would it make him really sick? Would it kill him? Did The Monster want him to eat it? Severus had been trying to figure it out, and trying to get away from the Muggle man when he accidentally did magic. He still did not know what he did - he just got so scared and confused.

Soon, the Ministry came. He knew they were from the Ministry by their robes, though they dressed different from the Ministry officials he knew of. The differences of being in a different country, he supposed. He supposed he was in Germany. That was not hard to figure out on its own. Even when The Monster first bought him, Severus figured that out. He did not know German, but he recognized some of the words.

The German officials Obliviated all of the Muggles, and did other complex memory charms. They took Severus out of the basement and to the Ministry, where they did charms and spells to take away the blood and dirt, and tried to put some potions on his scars and scratches to make them not hurt so badly. Then they locked him in the white room. They spoke little to him, and what they did say, Severus did not understand. But their eyes were cold, as were their hands. Their tones were just as cold, with no warmth or softness. That did not necessarily mean he was in trouble, for the only times he was spoke to softly was by Master...

He bit his lip and tasted blood. He would not think about Master. He trusted Master, and Master sold him to The Monster. Did Master know what happened at The Monster's? Did Master care? Where was Master?

He could not help but think of his past Master and Mistress as just that - Master and Mistress. Even though he had called The Monster "Master" to his face once or twice, the man did not speak English well, and he did not seem to care what Severus called him.

Everything felt like it was so abrupt. It felt like fate would not let him settle. Was that it? Did someone place some type of curse on him to make him feel like a fish out of water all the time? Just when he adjusted to being a slave, he was sold from Master Mering to Master and Mistress. Then, just as he was really comfortable with his life there, which admittedly, took less time than one might expect, he was sold again. And now this? He just wished he could be sold to someone, anyone, with the guarantee that he would be there until he died. Slaves were more of a burden to keep than House-Elves, and many people chose House-Elves over slaves because of that. House-Elves rarely needed punished by the hand of the owner, and they were very powerful. Slaves were only good for making good impressions, sex, and other similar things. Some people preferred slaves because of how it looked to other people. It was far more impressive to have someone come out, bow to you, and obey your every word over having a House-Elf do the same thing. And sex... well, that was obvious. Severus was not even sure if House-Elves were capable of doing that... if they were not, he was definitely envious. Perhaps there was a potion he could invent that would give one the body of a House-Elf...

He tried not to think about potions any longer. Even though he knew their scents, their properties, and had spent years deeply submerged in them, it was pointless. Would he even be able to brew potions any longer? He looked down at his long thin hands and flexed his fingers. Perhaps. The Monster had always put them back on when he was done, and there did not seem to be any permanent damage.

But he would likely never get the chance to, or be allowed to. Therefore, there was no sense on dwelling on it. There was no sense on pining after something you could not have; he had learned that years ago.

Time passed in the white room the way it did in the basement of The Monster's. He had no way of knowing how long he had been there. Two minutes? Two days? Two weeks? Two years? It was impossible to know. The two latter were unlikely, because he had not eaten or drank anything in a long time. The Monster gave him meals sparingly, in bowls he was expected to eat out of like a dog, which he did. But that had been a long time ago... there was no way to measure time for him at The Monster's and in the white room, but it had to have been several days since he last ate, and the water bowl at The Monster's had been empty for awhile... it had not yet been a week, as a Wizard could survive up to a week without water, whereas Muggles could only make it a few days. But if two weeks or two years had passed, he would have died.

_Are you dead? _He looked around the room. _Perhaps this is the afterlife. Perhaps for slaves, they are just given a room where they are allowed to sleep for eternity. That would be nice._

However, it was unlikely. He did not know what was in the afterlife, but he would probably go to hell or the equivalent of. He had tortured too many people, done too many things wrong... and what happened to slaves? Did they even go on to the afterlife? Perhaps they just... died. That would be nice, too. It would be like sleeping forever - he could just cease to exist.

And if he did go to a good place after he died, he would likely be serving up there, as well. But if it was a good place, there could not be too much pain or suffering, could there? He hoped not. Where did slaves go? Most wizards and witches were uncertain about that topic for themselves, but being a slave opened a brand new set of circumstances. It was something he had never even contemplated in his past life... was it worth contemplating now? Perhaps it was up to his owners to decide. Nevertheless, he could not do anything about it. He had no control over anything.

His ears perked at the sound of the door creaking open and he lifted his head quickly, opening his eyes. He had already situated himself in the far corner, but he pushed himself further in the corner as a Ministry official came in, holding his wand out threateningly.

The man snapped at Severus. Severus could not understand what the man wanted, so he did the safe thing; he knelt on his knees, touching his head to the floor. Knees apart, hands behind his back. That was a bow for the most formal of occasions, or when one was being punished. It was utter surrender. Severus knew this, and hoped it meant the same thing in Germany that it did Britain.

Apparently, whether it did or not, it was not what the man wanted. He grabbed Severus by the tangled mound on the back of his head that made up his hair and pulled him to his feet.

Though it hurt, Severus did not even let the pain show on his face. He was too used to it to complain. Perhaps now his hair was nearly unfixable, now that it had not had a combing charm or seen a shower in a long time. Perhaps he would be allowed to cut it all off. Then no one would be able to grab him by his hair again.

He was pushed against the wall by the Ministry official, who pulled out a wand and began scanning him. This, Severus was used to. That's what people did. They had to figure out if he was deathly ill, if he had any strange markings, how much he weighed, what his measurements were... he knew that. What he was being observed for, he did not know. And to be honest, he did not care.

The man let go over Severus' hair, turned, and walked away. Severus just weakly fell back to the floor, not having the energy to stand up on his own. He just wanted to go to sleep... perhaps he should... even if a Ministry person did come and kick him to wake him up, it was nothing he wasn't used to, anyway.

* * *

He did not know how long he slept. But he woke when he heard the door open again.

Wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he sat up and backed up against the wall. He always felt safer in the corner... he did not know why. Perhaps it was because he knew no one would be able to come up behind him if he was pressed against the wall.

The Ministry official held her wand threateningly out. She spoke, her tone of voice harsh and unwavering.

Severus could not understand her, but he nodded just the same.

He eyed the tray in her hands. There was a plate on the tray, with peas and a baked potato on it. A tall glass of water was also on the tray. _She means to feed you, _he realized. _Is the food laced with potion? Poison?_

The Monster had punished Severus every time he stood. He was supposed to stay on the floor, or on his hands and knees, at all times. He got to his knees and tried to crawl towards the woman, assuming that was what she wanted.

She shouted at him, sending a stinging hex his way.

He got back to the corner as quickly as he could, his heart beating fast. _What is it that she wants me to do? _He wondered, biting his lip. He got on his knees and knelt, hoping against hope that she would just punish him and get it over with.

But she didn't. She sat the tray down and backed out of the door, shutting it behind her, leaving Severus alone.

His stomach began growling ravenously at the smell of the food. He was starving; he knew he had to eat something, or he would get very sick. Possibly die. He was never guaranteed his next meal.

Getting up from the kneeling position, he crawled over to the tray. He had done a lot of crawling in the past... well, he did not know how long. Ever since The Monster owned him. The Monster did not let him stand. He was not allowed. He was to only crawl. Now he was simply too weak to walk, and besides, The Monster still legally owned him, as far as the mark was concerned. The Monster never soothed the burning on the forehead, so it was crucial that he obeyed what The Monster wanted out of him, even though he did not know where The Monster was.

The potato was cold, he could tell. And so were the peas. They did not have any butter, salt, or any other seasoning on them, but that was nothing new. He was used to food more bland than that. The water... he lifted the glass and sniffed it. It smelled like water. There was no trace of any potions - most potions smelled or looked like something. The water appeared to be just that - water.

Tentatively, he lifted the glass and took a small sip, welcoming the cool water as it slid down his throat. The Monster always insisted he lap it out of a bowl. The Monster would be very angry if he knew Severus was-

He sat down the glass and put his hand to his burning forehead, trying not to wince, but failing. He was disobeying The Monster... he could _not_ do that, as much as he wanted to.

Gritting his teeth, he weighed his options. It would not hurt to eat the food like The Monster insisted, but the water was in a glass; he had to drink it as it was, or perhaps pour it into the tray and lap it out of that. However, that seemed like a rather strange thing to do when he could just drink out of the glass.

He bit his lip before getting to his knees so that he could comfortably bend down and smell the potato. Again, it smelled just as it should. No potions, there did not seem to be any curses on it by the looks of it... he could not tell without using magic, of course, and he did not want to know where his wand was. He loved his wand, but The Monster had done things with it that were likely cruel, evil, sadistic, or at least nasty with it. Severus was not going to delude himself into thinking that he would ever get it back. Perhaps another one, but never the same one.

He bit into the potato, noticing absently that he had not been given any silverware in the first place. Perhaps they thought he would stab himself with his fork or choke himself with his spoon. He knew they thought he was crazy, or at least dangerous. They knew he had the Dark Mark, and probably formed their opinions from that.

Swallowing the bite of potato, he turned his attention back to the water. He needed to eat and drink slowly - his stomach was not accustomed to too much at one time, and he needed to make it last. He could not guarantee when he would be allowed to eat or drink next.

* * *

Contentedly, he lay curled up in the corner, lazily walking his fingers across the floor. He did not think about anything - that was the beauty of Occlumency. He was able to do it without his wand, and without doing wandless magic. He could do it as much as he wanted and no one would ever stop him. Unless they told him to, of course, in which case he would have to stop. But as long as he did not tell them that he was doing it, they would likely never know.

His stomach was full and he was wearing clothes. That was much better than he ever got at The Monster's. The Monster did not feed him much at all, and when he did, it was usually cold and mouldy scraps. He had had his clothes taken away as soon as he got to The Monster's. Here, in the white room, they gave him food, water, and clothes. Maybe he would be safe there. Maybe that was going to be the rest of his life. Maybe he would just live in the white room. He could do that. It would get boring, but he could always Occlude and retreat into his mind. He never had to be in the white room in his mind. He could be anywhere he wanted. That thought made him want to laugh with glee. They could never take his mind away from him. No, not ever. Not even if they drove him insane, because his brain would still be there. If they removed his brain, he would be dead, so that did not count.

"Stand up!" A harsh voice barked, causing Severus to nearly jump out of his skin. He had not even heard the door open.

As quickly as he could, he stood up against the wall, in the corner. He bowed his head, but let his eyes dart around the room, picking up what clues he could as to what was going on, as to what was happening. The man who spoke spoke English, though - that was a comfort. Severus was not one of those wizards that could speak twelve different languages - ordering him around in German was just nerve wrecking, knowing he was not pleasing when he should be. English... that was nice.

He saw two pairs of feet in the white room. One was wearing shiny black shoes, the other brown laced-up leather boots. And then there was his own bare feet. They were really rough - he had not worn shoes since the enslavement curse was put on him, however long ago that was.

The two men began to talk. They were conversing in German, that much was obvious. He could not understand them, which was frustrating. But he was used to that. Master and Mistress always talked in French when they did not want him to understand what they were saying. Not that what they were saying was any of his business and it would not have mattered it could understand them or not. One of these days, he would have to take it upon himself to learn French or German. Better German, because one, he would likely be in Germany for the rest of his life, two after several years, picking it up wouldn't it be so hard. Maybe.

One thing that was sure, The Monster was not one of those men. He knew of The Monster's voice well, and neither one of those voices were him. He didn't know what the good thing to or a bad thing. On one hand, it meant he might not see The Monster for a long time. And it was a good thing. And on the other hand, what would happen to him? At least with The Monster, he knew his place and knew his fate. While on the other hand...

It was all becoming confused. His head was really tired. It felt like it was filled with a thick cloud. No doubt a result from one of the many potions given to him. He wished they hadn't done that, but there was nothing he could to stop them.

The men left shutting the door behind them. The white room was quiet again, the only sound, his breathing.

_Don't dwell on anything. _He told himself fiercely. _You can't control anything. Stop pretending you can. Just stop thinking. Stop trying to understand anything. Just forget it. If you are supposed to know, somebody will tell you. Hopefully. Just give up. Like you should have done in the beginning._

He had stopped wondering what happened with the Order. He had stopped wondering about anything that had to do with his past life. However, that it did not stop him from wondering about his future, even though he had no control in that.

Once upon a time, his greatest fear had been losing his mind. No longer. His mind gave him more trouble than it was worth, sometimes.

* * *

He let them feed him a potion that smelled of... the smell was familiar, but he was too tired to place it. He let them bind his hands behind his back without resisted, as well as hamper his feet together in such a way that he could walk, but not fast and certainly not run. They secured a chain to his collar and wordlessly tugged on it, indicating that he should follow.

As he walked out of the white room, his eyes on the cold floor, he concentrated on the sound the chains on his ankles made as they clangoured and clinked against the floor. He ignored the looks he was sure to be getting from Ministry officials as he followed the man leading him into a lift.

He wished he had something to cover his arms with – the sheet-like cotton shift he was wearing was like an oversized pillowcase with holes cut for the neck and arms. They offered no sleeves, and the Ministry's cooling spells were too cold.

_And it would hide the Mark, _he blinked at the dark black Mark of a skull and snake on his left forearm. It really was ugly. And to think he once felt honoured to have it. That was more than his past life ago – that felt like several lifetimes ago. That was in his second lifetime – he had his past lives separated into groups- childhood; the years serving the Dark; the years fighting against the Dark… and now. He found himself not thinking much about his past lives at all now, but sometimes thoughts still crept up on him.

The man spoke crossly, pulling hard on the leash, nearly choking Severus.

Severus tried not to trip as he tried to follow the Ministry worker, trying to keep up the pace. If he walked any slower, he would end up on the floor, being dragged. No, thank you - he had had enough of similar things happen to him because of The Monster. However, if he walked any faster, he would trip over the hamper and end up on the floor, just the same.

Severus had always managed to stay relatively physically fit in his past life. He had spent too much time traipsing upstairs and downstairs at Hogwarts, chasing after miscreants, running to do this or that... but that was gone. Now, he just felt weak. He hadn't felt so weak at Master Mering's or at Master's and Mistress'. _Maybe it was something The Monster gave me_.

Two men, the men from before, began talking back and forth as Severus and the man leading him approached them. Severus did not even bother to listen too carefully to what they were saying. It would just be a waste of effort.

Severus could see his leash change hands. _Why do I even need a leash? I cannot run. I will not run. It seems rather pointless. _But then again, The Monster always liked to keep Severus on a leash. Maybe it was a new development in his legal status. Perhaps he had to be kept on a leash, now. He did not really care either way, but it was a bit annoying not knowing why.

The person now holding the leash began to tug on it, saying something that Severus could not understand.

Severus lifted his head to see cold grey eyes observing him. He tried not to make eye contact, but it was hard to look elsewhere. If he looked at a space behind the German's head, it would be obvious he was not looking at him. Was he supposed to be looking at him? He supposed he could do that. But eye contact? That was one of the most disrespectful and defiant things Severus could do... but if he were ordered to do it, perhaps he would not be punished for doing it? Perhaps the German did not know that it was disrespectful.

He bit his lip. Everyone above him was always right. Always. He could never let himself forget that. They were always right, no exceptions. Whatever they said was true. There was no sense in questioning or even pondering their words. There could only be acceptance.

Perhaps the man was a trainer. That would make a lot of sense that they would want Severus retrained. He had not meant to do accidental magic on those Muggles. It just... happened. But it was something that a good slave would not have done.

He had said he was sorry and had pleaded for forgiveness and punishment. The Ministry never punished him for it, though. Perhaps the Germans did not understand him, or perhaps they understood it was an accident? He did not know what he had done to earn food, cleansing spells, and clothes, but perhaps the Germans had different customs for their slaves? It was hard to think about - it made the room spin.

The man now holding the leash pulled out a wand. Ash, likely fifteen inches. He was speaking very rapidly.

Severus fell to the floor and cried out quietly as his knees came into harsh blows with the hard tiled floor. That would bruise, if it did not break, his kneecaps. But he was covered in bruises and cuts already, so it was not as if it made a difference. He just wished that whoever had been standing behind him had told him to kneel instead of kicking him in the back of the knees. He would have knelt, just as they told him.

He resumed the familiar bow. Knees to floor, apart, head bowed slightly, hands clasped behind back. He felt the tip of the ash wand touch his forehead, and the familiar burning pain overtake him. The pain was much more painful than he remembered - it felt like the very core of him was going to explode. Thankfully, he sank into darkness before that could happen.

**Coming soon in _Unwell_...**  
**Chapter Thirty: _Plan L=Avada Kedavra_**


	30. Plan L Equals Avada Kedavra

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's **_**Harry Potter**_** series. Thanks!**

* * *

**Book Two  
Chapter Thirty  
"Plan L=Avada Kedavra"**

* * *

Harry took five long strides across the room and pointed to the large blackboard with his wand. It would probably take any Weasley boy three or less strides, but Harry's legs were really short.

"Okay, Plan K." He said, taking a few deep breaths. It was nerve wrecking. It was now May 3rd, 1999. They had tried many times over the past several months to contact Christoffer Koing, with no luck. They had owled him several times and contacted newspapers and other people in Burgdorf (which did no good, as it was primarily a Muggle community. Apparently Koing did little interaction with Muggles, as they had never heard of him before). George had even flown to Germany by broomstick to try to talk to Koing face-to-face, just in case the man was ignoring their letters, but couldn't find him, even after a week of looking, and gave it up as a bad job, as he had to get back to his joke shop, which he was leaving in the not-quite-capable hands of his shop workers and apprentice.

But none of them were giving up finding Snape. Not until they or Snape died. Even if it took every bit of energy they had. Every bit of their brainpower put together. Every drop of magic in them. All the Galleons in Gringotts. They would find him and save him.

But that wasn't to say that they weren't discouraged. Even Gryffindors got discouraged sometimes. Mr. Weasley's exuberance had lessened, and Percy's bothering the Department of Magical Creatures became less heartened. Mrs. Weasley and Fleur had slowed down on their baking and sewing spree, because they were starting to doubt what good they were actually doing, sending the care packages they did. Neville had continued handing out literature on the treatment of slaves at Goldilocks' Nursery but had stopped after he got hexed on the street one night after locking up for Ms. Goldilocks. The hex missed him, but had bounced off the wall and hit a nearby cat. It had either been the Cruciatus or something similar. Neville hadn't wanted to quit, but since the literature seemed to be doing hardly any good anyhow, the members of S.P.E.W had convinced him to stop, if only for the time being.

Even Hermione was slowing down. She got less and less interviews offered, and consequently, less letters streaming in telling her what an idiot she was for trying to free the slaves (not that they had minded when Howlers came - that only announced to all of Hogwarts the mission. Free advertisement). Luna was having trouble with her 'connections' now, because of all the bad rap that the articles had gotten. Ron and Ginny were starting to feel useless, and Harry, too. But they couldn't give up. Not now.

"L, Harry." Ginny corrected.

He turned and pushed the glasses up his nose. "What?"

Ginny sighed, motioned to the blackboard, where Harry had written 'Plan K' with the tip of his wand. "It's Plan L, not Plan K."

Oh, right. They had already gone through the alphabet now, and were halfway through it again. He couldn't help it if he occasionally lost track. "Plan L," he began again, as if they hadn't been interrupted.

Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and George were settled in the Room of Requirement. It was a Monday night, and they were holding their weekly meeting for S.P.E.W. More often than not, they had two or three meetings a week, when their last plans failed, but always on Mondays, regardless. Most of the time, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley didn't attend, and Bill and Fleur didn't either. Charlie still worked and lived in Romania, so he never came, either. Percy usually came, but for some reason, he was late. But that was all right - that was only minus six. Six. When you only had thirteen members, everyone counted, especially those that were not bound by school rules. They were already breaking curfew, having this meeting, as it was.

"Any suggestions?" Harry asked the group, who were settled on cushions on the floor, looking very comfy. Somehow, he had become the leader of this mission, whilst Hermione headed S.P.E.W as a whole. That said, he normally ran the meetings, with Hermione stepping up to say a word or two most of the time. Sometimes, Mr. Weasley got up and added his own advice, which was always welcomed. "Writing letters obviously didn't work, to Snape or to Koing. He's getting them, but for some stupid reason, not replying." They knew he was getting them because the owls always returned empty handed.

"Yeah, and no more flying to Burgdorf." George said, crossly. "Next time anyone wants to leave the country, Apparate and don't listen to my mum." Mrs. Weasley had been very worried about George Apparating all the way to Germany, even though he assured her that he would only be Apparating small distances at a time, like from Hogsmeade to London, from London to across the English Channel into France, to Paris, etc., into Burgdorf. But that still didn't make her happy, so to appease his frantic mother, he had flown, in a harsh thunderstorm.

Harry nodded. "Well, yeah, but that didn't work either." He crossed out 'go to Burgdorf' on the board, as well as 'write letters to Snape' and 'write letters to Koing'. "We need a new idea, something fresh."

"You're going to want to cross out sending him goods." Ginny pointed out. "If Koing isn't replying or letting Snape reply, that must mean he's kind of irritated. Showering Snape with gifts won't help."

Harry frowned. It was true enough, but it was very discouraging. He liked to think that Snape was getting the muffins and woollen socks that they were sending out. Not that Snape would be thankful for them or anything, but it was a nice gesture, at least. "All right, we'll send them less often." He resigned. "Come on, guys, think. We need a new plan. Let's just focus on Snape for now. After we are able to buy him, _then_ we can start putting our energy into slave rights."

Hermione shook her head, standing up. "I disagree, Harry; we should be putting more effort into slave rights and less into helping Professor Snape. That way, no matter who owns Professor Snape, they will be forced to treat him kindly, and other slaves with benefit from it as well."

He didn't like that plan. It took too long and it was flawed. "But it might take years to change one law."

"Well, we're not helping Professor Snape with what we're doing, are we?" Hermione exclaimed. "We've tried everything right now. Maybe we just need to give it a rest."

"I agree with Hermione." Ron spoke up. "And not just because she's my girlfriend. Putting all our energy into helping just Snape is not really fair, especially when it's just a waste of effort. If we can make laws so they, I dunno, are treated better, then it doesn't matter who owns him."

Harry couldn't believe it. His best friend wasn't taking his side. He was taking _Hermione's_ side. He looked at the faces in the room; George looked thoughtful, Luna, dreamy, Ginny, resigned, and Neville, hesitant.

"Do you all agree with Hermione?" No answer. "Look, guys, have I ever steered you wrong?"

No one brought up the time they all went to the Ministry of Magic and got Sirius killed, and for that, Harry was grateful. He already knew it was his fault so many people had died, especially Sirius. He didn't need them to remind him.

He took a deep breath, squinting his green eyes shut. He would not yell. He would be very grown-up about all of this. "This is important!" He pleaded. "We buy Snape, and he is guaranteed being safe. I think we all owe him that, right?"

"I don't know, Harry." Neville sounded as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. "He almost killed Trevor that once."

"He lied about our grades - all of our grades." Ginny reminded everyone. "He told all of us that we had gotten a 'T' or "D' instead of our real grades, 'O''s and 'E''s and 'A''s."

"He tried to get us all expelled - more than once!" Ron spoke up.

_He saved my life. He saved everyone's life. He almost _died_ trying to save everyone. _Harry had enough blood on his hands - the blood of Sirius, the blood of Remus, the blood of Tonks, the blood of Mad-Eye, the blood of... well, shit, even his parents, really. If it hadn't been for the stupid prophesy (which Voldemort would have gotten eventually, regardless of who delivered it) about _him_, his parents wouldn't have died when they did! Letting Snape remain wherever he was, after pleading for help like he did, would only be more blood on his hands. Harry couldn't live with that.

"Fine!" Harry said, turning and waving his wand, banishing the blackboard to Merlin only knew where. "I'll do it myself. I bet Dobby will help me. Oh, wait, he's dead. Oh well, Dumbledore will- oh, he's dead too. Well, Snape usually helped me, behind the scenes, when it counted... but wait! It's my turn to return the favour!"

"Harry, calm down." Hermione pleaded with him, softly. "We're not giving up. We're-"

He turned on his heel and stomped out. They were as bad as McGonagall. As bad as Kingsley. As bad as... as bad as anyone. Harry realised that his hero complex went over the top sometimes, but this wasn't a hero complex. This was just... a normal civilised human's reaction to another human begging for help. At least, he hoped so. He hoped a normal human wasn't like the rest of S.P.E.W and gave up when the going got tough. What happened to his determined friends? His helpful friends, the one that stuck with each other through thick and thin?

_They died with Voldemort, too. _He realised as he stomped up to Gryffindor Tower. _My life's purpose, my friend's personalities, Snape's freedom... it all died with Voldemort._

He really hated that man.

* * *

"_Potter..." a voice hissed from somewhere nearby. "I'm watching you."_

_Harry was in a large dark room. Or, he thought it was a large room. He wasn't sure exactly – it was dark, after all. But as far as he could see was pitch black. The place smelled of... evil. Of just... evil. It sent shivers up his spine, it did._

"_Who are you?" He demanded, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. Didn't help – it was still dark._

"_Potter..." the voice hissed again. "You know who I am."_

_No, he didn't. He hadn't a clue. Actually, he had a sinking feeling of who it was, but he ignored it. Denial was the best way to go, sometimes. "No, I don't. Stop being so presumptuous about things." _It killed you last time...

_A chuckle filled the room, and seemed to wrap around Harry. He whirled around, trying to see what it was and get ready to fight it off, but he couldn't. It was too dark to do anything._

"_You haven't won yet, Potter." it hissed again. "You only think you have."_

"_You're wrong!" Harry said, viciously. "I've won. We've won. You're dead."_

"_Ah, but that is where you went wrong, Potter." The voice was soft. Too soft. Almost... kind, but yet not warm. Cold. "I am not the presumptuous one. Do you think a simple _Expelliarmus_ could kill Lord Voldemort? That simply knocking me over would do the job? Is that what you think?"_

_Oh, shit. It was him. Harry reached in his wand for his pocket as a familiar sense of _deja vu_ came over him. As if he'd been there before._

_His wand wasn't in his pocket. Somehow, he had suspected it wouldn't be, and yet, that didn't stop the blinding terror from coursing through his body at the verification._

"_You did die." Harry said, viciously. "You died, and we burned the body. We watched you burn."_

_The chuckle became a cackle. "Have you learned nothing of cooling spells? Of the Draught of the Living Death? Honestly, Potter; the sheer idiocy of your ideas amuse me to no end."_

_Draught of the Living Death? That made a person like they were dead. Not breathing, or eating... just like they were dead. Voldemort had taken the Draught of the Living Death when he 'died'. And somehow used a cooling spell when they put him on fire. He wasn't dead._

"_Get away from me!" Harry hissed, the sinking feeling growing worse when he noticed just how much he sounded like Voldemort when he said that. "You have no purpose for being alive – all of your followers are dead or bound to their owners. You've no power here at all, and everyone knows by now that your little mission to kill all the Muggles is useless, anyway." He wasn't think about what he was saying; the words just popped out, as if rehearsed. "You're evil, disgusting, and just a pathetic little Wizard who could never make any friends, and decided to take it out on everyone else."_

_"You disgust me. You think you are good, you are pure? You are a blemish to this world and your mere existence must be rubbed out. Every child, women, and man of your kind shall suffer the same fate." Voldemort said, sharply. "_Avada Kedavra_!"_

"Harry!" Someone shook Harry violently so that he woke. "Harry, wake up! Wake up!"

Harry opened his eyes. He could see a blob in front of him. A bright orange blob. Where did his glasses go?

"Here, mate, put on your glasses." The orange blob said, putting the glasses on Harry's face.

It was Ron, in his Chudley Canon pyjamas. His face was so pale that his freckles stood out. Gathered around him were the Gryffindor seventh-year boys, all pale and trembling, facing Harry with wands out.

"What's the problem?" Harry asked, sitting up. He was aware that he was covered in sweat, and shaking, that his nerves were a wreck. But it would pass. It always passed.

"He's fine." Ron turned to the Gryffindor boys. "You heard me; off to bed with you now!" He made a motion with his hands that sent all the boys scurrying for their beds. He then turned back to Harry, awkwardly perching on the foot of the bed. "Are you sure you're all right?" Ron looked... concerned. The look didn't really suit him, Harry decided.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, starting to feel even more nervous and antsy. What was Ron going on about? "Of course I'm fine." _The meeting. _His eyes narrowed. "I'm still really pissed off over you guys giving up on Snape like that, but-"

"Harry." Ron interrupted. He glanced around the dormitory for prying eyes before tucking his feet up in the bed and wrapping the curtains around the bed, so that he and Harry could have some privacy.

Harry squirmed. He was really comfortable with Ron – Ron was like his brother. But they hadn't slept in the same bed together since second-year, when Ron had had that really bad nightmare about the spiders and crawled into bed with Harry. Having him do that now... when they were both eighteen – was a little much, wasn't it?

"Harry," Ron said in a low voice again. "Were you having a nightmare?"

_Yeah. About Voldemort. I always have nightmares about Voldemort, the same one, but I can't tell anyone or they'll make fun of me or panic. _He tried to remember if he had forgotten to take his Dreamless Sleep last night. He did it every night, so even though he couldn't specifically remember taking it didn't mean he didn't. Every night blurred together, really. It was like putting on his pyjamas – he never really thought about it.

"Yeah, no big deal." Harry said, wrapping his arms around himself.

Ron's eyes were about as big as a bludger, Harry noticed. "Some nightmare. Harry, you were screaming the Killing Curse in your sleep." He said, almost inaudibly so that the other students couldn't hear their conversation, even though it really wouldn't matter – they had heard Harry screaming in his sleep, anyhow.

"What?" Harry's eyes widened. The Killing Curse? Why would he be yelling it in his sleep? Voldemort was always the one to cast it in Harry's nightmares.

"Well, you didn't shout 'the Killing Curse', but the incantation, you know?" Ron said, not making eye contact with Harry. "Don't worry, you didn't break or- or kill anything, but you had the guys pretty scared. Harry, are you- are you feeling all right? You don't need to- need to talk to someone, do you?" The Muggle world was seeing a large increase in people seeking therapy, as many Wizards and Witches had decided to do, as the Wizarding world didn't offer very many therapeutic options. Even though the said Wizards and Witches couldn't divulge much of their problems and past on the counsellors, they swore that just talking about it helped.

"I'm fine, Ron." Harry said, shortly, laying back down and rolling over on his side.

Ron hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"That was your cue to leave." Harry said, rolling his eyes and waving his hand to wandlessly open the curtains. He put his glasses on the bedside table

"Oh, um, right." Ron said, leaping out of the bed. "Well, I, um, won't tell anyone, Harry."

"Good." Harry said, shortly. He didn't know why he was so peeved, but... he had yelled '_Avada Kedavra'_ in his sleep? What kind of twisted person did that?

Ron went back to his bed, but before settling in, spoke again. "And Percy stopped by after you left." He said.

"Wonderful. I'm sure he is just as eager as the rest of you are to focus on the population at large."

"He's not, really." Ron admitted, sheepishly. "He was late because he was doing some late-night file digging into Snape. Said he found a bunch of new information. Snape was sold, right after we found out that Koing owned him. Koing is a fugitive right now – remember that big German scandal that happened all those months ago? That was Koing."

Suddenly, Harry was alert again. "What? Why didn't you wake me up? Why didn't you come get me? Why didn't-"

"Percy is going to come by tomorrow night during dinner." Ron said. "You two can make your plans then. As far as Percy knows, Snape's new owner doesn't speak any English, so sending him a letter is pointless. He thinks you should drop by in person and make your offer."

Harry leapt out of bed. "Why wait? Why not tonight?"

Ron looked confused. "Percy figured it would be best to turn it over in your head for awhile before you make the final step, buying him and all. It's a big deal to do that, you know."

Turn it over in his head? What was there to turn over? He was going to buy Snape. He had to buy Snape. "What time is it?"

"Two o'clock in the morning. Go to sleep, Harry. Tomorrow, you can make plans to go find Snape, and you'll have all our support." Ron yawned. "But for now, just go to sleep because..." he was out before he could finish his sentence.

Harry laid back in bed and tried to sleep. _Tried_. It wasn't easy. Not when he had a million thoughts buzzing around his head.

He reached into his bedside cabinet and pulled out a vial of Dreamless Sleep. Swallowing a dose quickly, he laid back in bed and shut his eyes. He wouldn't have another nightmare if he went to sleep now. There would be nothing stopping him from sleeping. The sooner he slept, the sooner morning would come.

* * *

_Tuesday, May 4th, 1999, 3:31:21 AM_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I am sorry to inform you that your godson, Theodore Remus Lupin's legal guardian, Andromeda Black Tonks, has passed away, due to a serious case of the Dragon Pox. Ms. Tonks instructed in her will that you take in your godson at the time of her death. To claim custody, and to undergo an examination to ensure you as a fit guardian, please go to the Wizard Family Services office, at 3:05:00 PM on Tuesday, May 4th, 1999. Should you fail to show up, custody will be forfeited and Theodore Lupin will be place in the Wizarding foster care system._

_Sincerely,_

_Hamilda Hackrenson, Wizard Family Services_

-

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Thirty: **_**Reflections**_

_**_**_

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_**A/N:**__I am going to take this moment to thank the C2s that "Unwell" has been put in; Favorite Fiction, Most Loved, _The Greatest AU Harry Potter Stories There Ever Was! ! ! READ THEM! ! !_ ,_ and To Bewitch The Mind And Ensnare The Senses: A Severus Snape Community. Four C2s is the most I've ever had at one time, and for that, I thank you.

Also, with 245 reviews and 31,000 views, that's the most any of my stories have ever had. So I want to thank you – whether you review every chapter, or have never reviewed before. Whether you have been reading this since the summer, or just started it today – thanks.

Thanks to those who helped me out with my German (or lack thereof!)!


	31. Reflections

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's _Harry Potter_ series. Thanks! **

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One  
"Reflections"**

* * *

"Accio_ slave!" Someone shouted, their voice dry and hoarse sounding._

_Severus felt his himself lift into the air. He felt himself flying at a terrifying speed, backwards. He didn't know where he was going, or who was summoning him. It was the most terrifying thing he could think of – nothing compared to it at the moment. He had never liked flying for that very reason – he hated being in the air, and going fast, when simply walking, running, Apparating, or using a Portkey would do the job quite nicely. Flying only risked breaking your neck, and yet? Now he flew every day. Not with a broomstick, and not by choice. Slaves were only objects, and could be summoned as easily as a sheet of parchment._

_He landed in the dust, on top of a sharp stone. He cried out in pain, but should not have. He was rewarded with a kick in the chest._

"_Do not speak in the presence of the Dark Lord!" The kicker demanded. "Scum!"_

_Was Severus to apologize? That would involve speaking. But to not apologize would be rude. He just got to his knees and bowed his forehead to the dust. His nose was large enough to touch the dust as well – if he breathed through his nose, his nose filled with dust. If he breathed through his mouth, his lungs became coated with it. It would be better to get dirt in his nose – if he were to pleasure someone orally with dust in his mouth... only a bad slave, with no mind, would do that. That would not be pleasuring at all._

"_Apologize, scum!" He was kicked sharply in his rear, and this time, bit his lip to keep himself from crying out. His rectum was still very tender from being used last time. He could not remember who had used him or what it had entailed, but it must have been rough, and lasted for hours... which likely meant multiple people using him in a row. Men, or his rectum would not hurt so. Unless they had been torturing him or fulfilling some sort of fetish, using wands or something similar. If it hadn't been rough or lasted for hours, he wouldn't be hurting so now. He was used to being used. It was rather humiliating to have it hurt at this point._

_He held back a cough as he spoke. The dust that had gotten into his lungs was enough, apparently. "I apologize, my Lord." He said. "Please – if you would punish me-"_

"_My Lord?" The dry and hoarse voice asked, softly. "Did the slave just refer to me as _his_ lord?"_

_At that moment, Severus realised that he had done something big. And likely stupid, too. Severus did not know if he was being spoken to or not, so he chose not to reply. He had been told to not speak in the presence of the Dark Lord, with the exception of the apology._

"_Answer, scum!" He was kicked again, this time in the hip._

"_Yes, my Lord!" Severus cried the words out before he could school them into the emotionless way of speaking he had picked up on so long ago Thankfully so, for that was the best way for a slave to speak._

"_Look at me!" The dry voice became shrilly._

_The cold feeling that filled Severus' chest and throat was terrifying. The order itself was terrifying. He could not look at the Dark Lord. Not him. Not a mere slave. There was nothing in him that made him worthy of..._

_But the _Imperius_ curse was worthless for him. As a matter of fact, if he had the _Imperius_ curse put on him, ever, the burning in his forehead would likely knock him unconscious. For a slave to be put under the _Imperius_ was the most dishonourable thing that could happen to a slave, next to killing your owner. For a slave didn't need the _Imperius_ – they were bound to do what they were told, anyhow._

_He looked up at the Dark Lord. The pale faced man had red slits for eyes, eyes that could see into Severus' very soul. And Severus knew that the Dark Lord was, in fact, looking into Severus' soul right now. Severus' mind, Severus' soul... they all belonged to his master, who was standing at his master's left, but at the same time, it all belonged to the Dark Lord, as well. And that meant that Severus could not hide any of his thoughts, his uncertainties, from the Dark Lord – his master ad once told him to obey everyone in the world, if their orders did not go against his. And that meant he had to let the Dark Lord see everything._

_The red eyes slitted even more, if that were possible. "Crucio!" The Dark Lord's dry voice demanded._

_Severus had no way to be completely certain, but he was quite sure that there was no conceivable way to not be in pain after your leg was thrown a meter away. And yet, he was still breathing, and flinching in the dust, crying out as the curse pulsed through his body._

"_I am sorry, sir!" Severus hadn't known he was not supposed to call him the Dark Lord any longer. "I apologize! I am sorry!" Of course, those pleas were ridiculous – the apology always went something along the lines of "please punish me as you see fit". The Dark Lord was simply doing that._

"_Are we?" The Dark Lord lifted the curse, and even reattached Severus leg. If Severus were feeling more coherent, he might cringe at all the dirt that had had been in the stump where the leg had been – now it was in his leg._

_But Severus wasn't thinking about that. He was in a cold sweat. The waste he had passed while under the curse was covering him, since he had continuously rolled in it, unable to control his body. He could barely breathe – when he opened his eyes, he saw stars. He had screamed too much – now his voice sounded just about as hoarse as the Dark Lord's._

"_Y-Y-Yes, s-s-sir." Severus was relatively sure that he could never go wrong with 'sir' – Master Mering had always said that when in doubt, to use ' sir' or 'madam' (or 'miss' – it did not really matter). There was always the off-chance that you were speaking to a Transgender person, but most of them would be quite understanding about that, and few were 'out' as that in the Wizarding world, anyhow. Master Mering had said that they were generally good-natgured about it._

"_Then if you truly are, you will not mind if we continue with the punishment." The Dark Lord turned to the man on his left. "Nigel, would you care to do the honours?"_

_Master Mering's eyes widened. "If you are sure, my Lord. I would love to."_

_The Dark Lord chuckled. A chuckle that Severus himself had once been so pleased to hear, for Severus had been the one to make the Dark Lord do it. "Of course."_

_And so began the series of spells and punishments. Between licking shoes clean, being used by a cane with spikes on it, hanging on a pole, in mid-air, for hours, and skewered eyeballs, Severus was more relieved than he had ever been in his life when the Dark Lord's final Cruciatus finally caused him to-_

Severus whimpered, sitting straight up. His naked body was cold – the handful of dirty straw that he had found just in grasp's reach was scattered all over the place, no longer on his feet to keep his feet warm. He was surprised for a brief moment to be able to see – hadn't the Dark Lord skewered his eyeballs with splintering bamboo? They were gritty with dust, but they were still there.

He blinked and realised he was being yelled at by his master, who was wearing a threadbare dressing gown. But Severus wasn't unchained – through the open barn door behind his master, Severus could see that it was too dark for the day to begin.

Master aimed a stinging hex Severus' way, before turning on his knees and marching away.

_It was just a nightmare. _Severus assured himself, bringing his knees back up to his chest and hugging them closer, trying to converse as much heat as possible. _Just another nightmare._

* * *

Harry stuffed what he could into the bag. He wasn't really even paying attention to what he was throwing in there. His invisibility cloak, clean underwear, his Gringotts key... he would need food. Food. He would go to the kitchen and stock up on fruit or something. That'd hold him over for a day or two. He could always buy some in France. Or Germany. He wouldn't be gone long – a week at the most. If he followed Hermione's instructions to the letter, it'd take him a day or even close to two to Dusselheimer, where Snape's owner lived. Where Snape probably was. But Harry would never follow Hermione's instructions – really, she should just give up.

"Harry!" Ron breathed, trying to catch his breath as he and Hermione ran into the boy's dormitory. "Merlin, we thought you'd- you'd already left." He tried to catch his breath, heaving. He dropped a basket of food on Harry's bed, filled with sandwiches, biscuits, and tins of pumpkin juice.

"Thanks." Harry said, putting the food into the basket. He turned to Hermione as she stuffed the small stack of books in his bag. "What are those for?"

"For you to study." She said firmly, waving her wand and muttering Latin words before continuing. "I just spelled your bag like I did mine last year. Now you can fit plenty of things in there without-"

"Yeah, look, I'll be fine." Harry reached in the bag to pull out the books. "I mean, I won't be gone long. A week at the most. Assuming McGonagall lets me come back to school-"

"Golden Boy." Ron quipped, using Snape's favourite malignant name for Harry, reminding them of how McGonagall and Dumbledore always let Harry go around the rules if he wished to.

"Then I'll be able to pass my subjects with no problem in time for the NEWTs. They aren't until June." Harry pulled out the books. "What the hell is this? These aren't textbooks! _The Road to Recovery_? _Surviving the Aftermath_?" He looked at Hermione quizzically, who huffed.

"You honestly don't think Professor Snape's going to be the same as he's always been, do you?" Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry's dumbfounded look. "You think you're just going to buy him, and he'll be calling you a dunderhead right away, that he'll probably not bother to thank you for your help, that he'll treat you like a mosquito buzzing in his ear?"

"Um..." Harry didn't really have an answer to that. Over Christmas, Mr. Weasley did explain to him what happened at Henderson's, but said that it was Potion-induced, mainly. Harry imagined that... well, yeah, Snape would be mostly the same. Being owned wouldn't take the stubborn and mean traits away from Snape, and being owned by your worst enemy's son would be pretty annoying, and Snape would show that, definitely.

His bushy haired friend rolled her brown eyes again and put the books back in his bag. "The Professor Snape we all know wouldn't have written you a help message – _you_, of all people – unless he was desperate. Desperate and utterly terrified." She sighed. "Harry, this is why the Order wouldn't let you help in the first place. You're not prepared to help someone mentally unstable."

Ron scoffed. "Snape's always been mentally unstable! That didn't seem to be a problem when-"

"Professor Snape had every right to be the way he was!" Hermione snapped. "Imagine getting up every morning to teach a dangerous subject to children who usually couldn't care less, and going to bed late at night after grading all their papers and making sure they were in their rooms, to be summoned by a dangerous Dark Wizard? He probably functioned on few hours of sleep, and had a stress-level to rival the Prime Minister's! It's a miracle on it's own that he didn't suffer a premature heart attack long before the War actually began!"

Harry and Ron could only stare at her, dumbfounded, mouths wide open. _She's defending Snape... I mean, she's done that before, but... wow. _He knew Hermione had views on slavery that many people did not appreciate, views that she was often outspoken about, but the way she was talking now appeared that she actually cared about Snape as a person, not as a hero or a human being, but as a... friend or something.

Harry wasn't so sure he agreed with Hermione, though. Snape hadn't had _every_ right to be the way he was. There was really no excuse for threatening to poison a little boy's toad.

Her boyfriend did not do subtle. Ron never did subtle. "You're defending _Snape_?" He asked, mouth wide open.

"Yes." Hermione snapped again, colouring a bit. "Neither of you seem to realize the gravity of the situation! The Order thinks it's better for Professor Snape to stay as he is than have to go through a highly painful emotional recovery."

"You can't agree with that." Harry said in disbelief. Hermione would never let someone stay in a dangerous situation if she could help it.

She sighed. "Of course not, Harry! But I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into before you do this! It would be cruel to rescue Professor Snape and damage him further. You've got to be careful, Harry, and prepared for all sorts of behaviour. _That's_ what the books are for."

Harry hadn't thought of that. In his mind, things would get back to normal right away. Well, not right away, but in a few weeks... Snape didn't like to be in serving positions under his former students, Harry knew, but Snape would rebel against that so far that he'd be normal before you could say 'Quidditch'. Sure, he'd probably be really mad for being made to be in that position for so long, and might have mild depression problems... but didn't everybody?

"Read the books in your spare time, Harry." Hermione said softly, reaching out and putting a stray piece of his wild hair behind his ears. "You are doing a really wonderful thing here, but I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into before you do."

Harry nodded as she took a step closer and embraced him, pressing her lips to the top of his black-haired head. "Be safe, Harry."

Ron nodded empathetically, seemingly not at all bothered by his girlfriend's display of affection towards Harry. Harry thought of Hermione and Ron as a sister and brother, and the other two knew that. "Yeah, be safe. I tried to talk Hermione into letting me go with you, but she said she'd hex of my balls and serve them to a Basilisk for tea."

Harry snorted whilst Hermione turned a deep shade of red. "Oh, just shut up." She said, hiding a small smile. But her face quickly turned serious again. "Harry, are you sure this is a good idea? With Teddy and everything? You don't know how to be a parent, and you're not a therapist, so-"

Harry tuned her out. He really did not want to think about that.

He had woken up that morning with a letter on his breast, left by some owl that he had no idea how it got in his room. The letter was from the Ministry, and it was about Teddy.

Tonks' mother had died, and Teddy was supposed to live with Harry. Harry had agreed to that, that if for some reason Andromeda died, Harry'd get Teddy, but he hadn't thought it'd really happen. At least not for forever, anyway. Tonks had been very young, and consequently, so had her parents. Wizards and witches lived to be two hundred and thirty, on average. She wasn't supposed to _die_. Not yet.

But as things always happened to Harry James Potter, this was. Things always happened all at the same time. Things could never come by themselves, or slowly. They had to come in groups, and they moved fast. Kind of like girls, sometimes, now that he thought about it.

"He's got enough on his mind." Ron defended Harry. "Go, before McGonagall catches you."

He nodded and gave Hermione and Ron both a hug, much to Ron's disdain. "Remember, you have no idea why I left." Harry smiled weakly, before turning and trotting out the door. He didn't know why he felt like this was such a big deal... he would be gone for a few days. He had gone two months at a time, every year, without Ron and Hermione with him. It didn't call for such emotional and-

_This is your first big thing that you do _without_ them, _he realized as he jogged down the stairs, hoping against hope that no one of significance would spot him and wonder why he wasn't in class. _Every since you met them, you've had at least one big adventure with them every year. _Every_ year. Well, not sixth so much, but sort of... _But this was all wrong. It wasn't the end of the school year, which it normally was when their big things happened. And no one was in mortal peril this time. Or at least, he hoped not.

* * *

Harry didn't know why Madame Hooch had bothered to teach him and the other first-years what she did the very first day they had had their flying lessons. She had taught them to hold their hand over their broomstick, which was on the ground, and call "up". The broomstick would then fly into their hands. But that seemed pointless. Wouldn't a simple "Accio" do just as well? And it did not hurt anyone to bend down and pick up the broomstick - it would make sense for someone like, say, Hagrid, who was so far from the ground that it would take a lot of effort to pick up a broomstick, or someone that was old, but for eleven-year-olds? Pointless, absolutely pointless, especially because if you owned a good broom, there was no way that you were keeping it on the ground. You were keeping it properly stowed away, so that it did not get stepped on, fingerprints on it, etc.

He looked around the Hogwarts ground fondly. The bright green grass was blowing in the wind. For May, it was pretty chilly. But Harry never minded – the weather in Scotland was always wonderful, simply because it wasn't Privet Drive. He looked fondly at the Whomping Willow; that tree held so many memories. Memories of flying cars, Sirius and Remus, of the Last Battle... and then there was the Quidditch Pitch. He had played first, second, third, and sixth year. He had done really well, too – there was something about flying that made him feel so _free_.

_You're looking around here like you'll never see it again. God, Harry – stop being so sentimental. If Ron knew what was going through your head right now, he'd call you a 'pansy'. _

But it felt so final. He couldn't explain it. He just... knew, despite his poor grades in Divination, that his studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would never be the same. Because he was not going to come back as a student.

* * *

12 Grimmauld Place was empty when Harry arrived there. Apparently the Aurors were through cleaning the Dark Magic out of it. There had been a lot, that not even the Order had dared mess with. Tonks, Dumbledore, Snape, and Kingsley had been the most skilled to do that, but had never had the time to deal with the lurks in the cellar or rooms that the Order didn't use.

He sank down on a sofa, trying not to think about where he was. Grimmauld Place held a lot of memories for him, memories that could technically be classified as "good" memories, but memories that hurt too much to think about. Sirius had sat on this couch, his arms around Harry as Harry drifted off to sleep... Remus had told Harry all sorts of stories about his parents right there in the drawing room. Dumbledore had stood in the kitchen, leading Order meetings... Fred had played so many pranks all over the house that-

_Speak of the devil, _Harry thought grudgingly as he pulled a Weasley product out from under the sofa cushion. It was an early model, no doubt from 1995. To think that Fred had held this in his hand, proudly showing it off to Remus and Sirius, who immediately began plotting harmless pranks to play on Order members... until Tonks talked them out of it...

He blinked back the tears in his eyes. It wasn't right – he couldn't cry about this _now_. The War ended a long time ago. Twelve months ago was a long time ago, in Harry's opinion. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He couldn't cry about things _now_. The time to grieve was up.

He hadn't cried when he found out Remus died. Or Fred. Or Tonks. Or most anyone else, really. He loved them all; Remus had been like another godfather to Harry sometimes, Fred like an older brother, Tonks like a supremely cool cousin, so-and-so like this, this person like that... but he wasn't able to cry. Other people were crying too hard at their Memorial services and needed shoulders to cry on. As Harry had two... he had always had people leaning on it, soaking his sleeves with tears. He couldn't cry _then_. And what good did crying do, anyhow? Hell, he hadn't properly cried over _Sirius_ dying. _Sirius_, his _godfather_, the one person he had met that he loved more than anyone else. He had moped, sulked, and been depressed. He had stared at the shadows on his ceiling for hours at a time, not moving, not thinking about anything, but he hadn't cried. Harry Potter just didn't cry.

He had decided that the summer after Cedric Diggory died. He figured that he'd be seeing a lot of death in his lifetime. He already saw three people die right before his eyes, though he couldn't remember the first two, so he was bound to see more. He had to man up and suck it up. Breaking down and crying was something that Voldemort would use as a weakness. Yeah, he had cried a few times since then, especially the night Sirius died, but he didn't think he got it out of his system, because every time he thought of Sirius, his gut wrenched, the world start to tip, and he just wanted to lay in bed and cry until his stomach stopped hurting, which it'd probably never do. So he couldn't afford to start.

The raven-haired teen took a deep breath through his nose, laying down and propping his feet up on the arm of the ancient couch. He did not have a very good sense of smell, well, it was average, he supposed. He wished he could smell Sirius in the air, like maybe he had been in the house enough for his smell to permanent there somehow. Sirius, after getting to Grimmauld Place, always smelled like cinnamon and wet dog. Harry didn't used to like the smell of wet dog, but now he loved it. It made him think of his godfather.

Remus had always smelt like cinnamon, as well. Harry didn't know why. Perhaps they chewed the same brand of gum or something. He hadn't known the others well enough to know how they smelled, but it would still be nice to have some reminder of them. To be in the house where they spent so much time together and to have _no_ reminders whatsoever of them was hard. He briefly wished he was a werewolf - Remus always had had a good sense of smell. Maybe he would bring Teddy over in a decade, see if he could smell his father. It was worth a shot.

Harry placed his hands over his eyes and pressed his palms over his eyes until he saw green and pink orbs. He wished he could Apparate over the English Channel _now_. He realized it was a big deal to Apparate over something like that, that he needed to rest so that his magical core could recharge, so to speak, but it was hard. He felt like he had to go _now_.

_Why are you so eager to help Snape? _A voice bothered him in the back of his head. _Yeah, he saved your life. It was because he was bloody in love with your mum. That's it. He hates you, he hates your friends, he hates your family, he hates anyone who has ever been close to being your family... he hates everyone _but_ your mum, apparently._

_But that's just it,_ Harry argued._ He helped me _despite_ hating me. And so what if he loved my mum? I'm sure lots of people loved my mum. She was pretty gorgeous. _She was, from the pictures he had seen.

_And, _he added in the argument against himself, _that's _good_. Do you know how many people who are alive can claim to have been good friends with either one of my parents? McGonagall was just their teacher, she has no special memories, probably. Filch probably doesn't remember them, and wouldn't have any good memories if he did. Madame Pomfrey might have their medical files, but that's it... Snape seems like he knew my parents well, even if he hated Dad. I'll bet he could tell me lots about them._

He loved his parents. He loved his parents so much it hurt. He missed them so much that it hurt to breathe sometimes. And yet, he could never remember even meeting them. They had been so 2-D his entire life, like those Muggle cartoons. But if he could hear about them from someone who truly knew them, it would make them so much realer.

Remus and Sirius had tried, of course, but every time Sirius started telling a story, he'd get a glazed over look in his eyes and start calling Harry "James". Remus told Harry that in Sirius' heart, Sirius knew the difference between Harry and his father, and that Sirius just got confused sometimes. Remus had been wrong about a lot of things before, but Harry didn't think Remus had been too wrong about that. He knew Sirius had loved him.

And Remus' stories... well, they had been good stories, but he hadn't known James as well as Sirius had. James and Sirius were like brothers, apparently. Remus seemed closer to Sirius than James... which was all right. None of it mattered any more. They were all in heaven. Harry hoped they had lots of fun up there together. He hoped they could transform into their Animagus forms up there, even though Remus didn't have a form to join into. But he was probably just happy that he had no more transformations. Or at least, his transformations weren't painful. Would he transform in heaven?

They probably played lots of tricks on Harry's mum. She probably swatted them upside the heads, before she laughed. Then they would look down over the clouds and watch Harry. Sirius and Harry's dad were probably disgusted that Harry was going to help Snape, and Remus was probably apathetic. Remus had tried to be civil to Snape, Harry had noticed, even though Remus didn't like Snape. And Harry's mum... she was probably proud. Right? Even though she and Snape hadn't gotten along after the Pensieve incident, perhaps she still cared for him as a friend, right?

He hoped they were proud of him. He hoped that wherever they were, whatever they were doing, that when he died, he could be with them. He wasn't going to kill himself or anything, of course, but dammit, he had been so close to being with them. He wanted to be with them so badly. Not enough to kill himself and miss out on what his future had to offer - that would disappoint them - but he still was looking forward to death. Not in a morbid way, but in a... an indescribable way.

He knew one thing; His parents, Sirius, and Remus loved him for him, and not The-Saviour-Of-The-World. Did they know he was called that, now? He felt like everyone else loved him at least partially for that. Ron and Hermione didn't, of course, though he knew sometimes Ron got jealous. The Weasleys loved him because he was Ron's friend... though sometimes, he felt like Ginny still had more of a fan girl crush on him instead of truly loving him for him. That was one of the reasons he had wanted to break up with her, even though he hadn't told her that. God, wording it that way made him sound like such a jerk. She wasn't a fan girl... but it felt like something was wrong between the two of them.

Hagrid loved Harry for Harry, that was true enough. Hagrid really loved Harry - thinking about it made Harry smile. But everyone else... he shook his head. He couldn't be certain. Especially Dumbledore. Had Dumbledore seen him as a tool or a child? A soldier or a person?

_At least that was one good thing about Snape, _Harry mused. _He always made his opinion quite clear on how he felt about you._

He thought about the note Snape had sent. 'Please help me. I am sorry. Please'. What was he sorry for? Being mean to Harry over the years? Telling Professor McGonagall that he didn't want rescued, and changing his mind in a month's time? Sorry for asking for help? Harry didn't know, and he didn't care. A call for help was only the usual for him, and he couldn't help but answer. It was like second-nature to him.

His saving-people thing had became very apparent when he was eleven-years-old, if it hadn't been before. He remembered finding a dead squirrel by the side of the road when he was six. It was cold, stiff, and has an eye bulging out. Harry didn't realize it was actually dead, and had spent hours on the front steps of 4 Privet Drive, trying to nurse it back to health. Aunt Petunia had gotten really mad when she found Harry with it. She had spanked him with Uncle Vernon's belt and locked him in the cupboard for two days. He hadn't learned from that, obviously, because here he was ten years later, doing the same thing.

_Only if we're lucky, Snape will still be alive,_ he thought, trying to be positive, before rolling over on his side and shutting his eyes tightly. The alarm on his wand would go off in three hours - he needed to sleep as much as he could until then. Then, time to Apparate over the English Channel. Rest for an hour or so, Apparate to somewhere else. Then Apparate into Germany, even though Hermione had said to rest overnight.. He'd Apparate to Berlin before Burgdorf. He might as well speak to the German equivalent to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Beings Division first, to find out what happened to Snape.

_All right, Snape. After this, my debt is definitely paid. Next time, it's your turn to rescue my bum again, _was his last thought before drifting into a fitful slumber, where he dreamed about a stag, Grim, and werewolf, playfully tossing around and running on a big white cloud.

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Thirty-Two:**

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_**A/N:**__ Happy late Christmas, everyone! I hope everyone had a wonderful time! Sorry for the lateness in this chapter – but on the plus side, it's over 5,000 words long?_


	32. Welcome to Düsselheim

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's _Harry Potter_ series. Thanks! **

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two  
"Welcome to Düsselheim"**

* * *

He curled up into himself as much as he could, closing his eyes tightly, trying not to whimper. Whimpering normally only made it hurt worse, for some reason, though sometimes he could not help it. Not to mention that alerting Master's dog to him was always a bad thing - if Master's dog heard Severus make too much noise, he'd come inside the barn and start barking at him. Or attacking him. Or mounting him. Severus was too tired to deal with that. At least, Severus had quickly found out that lying down and refusing to make eye contact with the dog lessened the mounting quite considerably.

He was also too sore. He had spent the entire day working in the direct sunlight, from dawn until past dusk. The sun had turned his neck, rear, and the back of his legs sunburnt. He was really used to that, at this point, but it never stopped hurting any less. He wished Master would put a Potion on him to fix it, or let Severus put a Potion on himself, but he never did. Master got sunburnt as well, Severus saw, on his arms, face, and the top of his balding head, but Master never had the sunburns the next day, so he likely fixed it with a Potion. Severus knew that there was no point for his master to put a Potion on him. Severus was to just survive. His pain meant nothing to Master, and why should it? It still did not stop him from hoping that maybe someday, Master would take pity on him and help him.

He reached up to his neck, ignoring the pain that ran through his shoulder blades as he moved, to adjust his collar the best he could. His collar was a very thick silver one, it was, a little too tight, and much too heavy. The collar itself must have cost a fortune. Severus' master had very little money, Severus supposed from one look around the farm, but the collar had been a good investment, really. It was silver and very strong - it would be around longer than Severus would be.

Baldur, Master's dog, wandered inside the barn and began lapping water out of the water bowl he and Severus shared. Severus could only lay as still as possible and watch him - he really hated that dog. Baldur would likely just go right outside again and settle himself outside the barn, where he was stationed to guard, after he finished drinking. Hopefully. Baldur was both Master's dog and pet, just like a familiar, except not magical. Baldur was above Severus, and Severus could not yell at him or hurt him in any way. That said, he preferred just to ignore him and hoped Baldur ignored him back.

Severus let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when Baldur turned around and headed back outside the barn. Baldur even left some water for Severus, which perhaps he would drink later. He had drank his fill an hour before, when Master had led him to the barn and chained him up where he did every night, but he and Baldur might as well finish off the water while they could. Master would refill it every morning and evening, like he always did. They might as well drink as much water as they could.

He looked over at Master's horses, who were standing contentedly in their stalls, sleeping. He didn't know if the horses had names - Master never spoke English (Severus could only assume he didn't speak it), but Severus was pretty sure that Master viewed the horses like he viewed Severus - as help, not as a friend or family, or anything of the sort.

Severus didn't get a stall, though. The horses got each their own stall, and Baldur his doghouse outside the barn. Severus was just chained up, inside the barn. He didn't need a stall or any sort of shelter, not really, but it would be nice to have one. Where he was always chained up had a large ant bed nearby where large fire ants lived, and a plank was missing off the wall, making a cold drift come through. Though the cold drift was welcome whenever it soothed Severus' aches and pains.

Every morning, Master filled the food and water bowls that Baldur and Severus shared - Severus always tried to get to the food bowl before Baldur did, because Baldur rarely left anything for him - with food scraps and something else. Severus assumed it was some sort of animal feed. Then Master would unchain Severus from the wall and Apparate to some place on the large farm with him. He'd always chain Severus to a pole in the ground, so that Severus could not run away (which Severus found rather pointless - why would he try to get away?). Severus always spent his days doing different things, like planting or weeding or spreading Potions on the soil, the Muggle way. Master didn't give him a wand. Severus was pretty sure that The Monster still had his wand, or perhaps had broken or lost it. It was not 'his' wand, anyhow. Nothing was 'his', really.

Master usually brought Severus cool water at noon, which he didn't have to share with Baldur if Baldur wasn't around. And then more work until it was too dark to see. Master would Apparate him back to the barn, secure the chain to the wall, and leave. A little while later, he'd come and fill the food and water bowl and leave. Until morning. When everything started again.

Could wizards get fleas? Severus' skin was starting to itch something awful, and he didn't know what it was. He hadn't had a cleansing spell or anything of the sort since he was sold to his new master. And he hadn't had a shower or bath since he was sold to The Monster. It made sense then, that perhaps his skin would itch, but he wished it wouldn't.

On the plus side, his master never grabbed Severus by his hair. Severus' hair was in a filthy tangled knot behind his head, and he knew it. It had been that way at The Monster's, and no one had fixed it for him. But he didn't mind. He got less headaches that way.

Also, the dirtier he stayed, the less chance that his master would ever use him. Severus didn't really think he would, not after all this time. He didn't know how long Master had owned him, but it had to have been several months. There had been snow for awhile, which had just recently left. So it hadn't been _too_ long. But if Master was going to use him, he might have done it already.

Severus suspected that Master had a family, but he didn't know who they were. He could hear children outside, sometimes, but only rarely. He never saw them, and he doubted they ever saw him. They were probably Master's children, though. They were probably just not allowed near the barn, or him. Or maybe they didn't want to be near the barn or him. It did not matter, though. It was hard enough trying to understand what Master wanted, when Master ordered him in a language Severus didn't know. More people would only make everything more complicated. Severus didn't like complicated.

Normally, he fell asleep rather quickly. In minutes. But for some reason, tonight, he couldn't. He was almost _too_ tired to sleep, after such a long day. And his body was so burnt that he was shivering. He didn't know if that made sense. He didn't know if a lot of his thoughts made sense, but he had no way of knowing. He hadn't spoken in... how long? He couldn't remember. And he did not have a quill or parchment to organize his thoughts with. Or a wand, Pensive, or anything of the sort. He just let his thoughts come in and out now, without trying to remember anything or think about anything too hard. It was much easier than way. Really, why hadn't he done any of that before?

Tonight was different. He didn't know what it was. But it was different. It was too... quiet. There was something in the air that he didn't like, didn't trust. But he didn't know what it was, nor was there anything he could do about it. It was like waiting for doom. He knew something big, and probably bad, was going to happen, but there was nothing he could do about it. Just wait.

* * *

Harry had once heard that English was one of the hardest languages in the world to learn, because so many words were borrowed from Greek, or Latin, or French, or... or just about any other language that ever existed. It was a "new" language in a world of old languages.

But he had changed his mind after arriving in Germany. German definitely was the hardest language in the world to learn. It seemed most everyone who spoke it had to really use their throats – wouldn't that cause a sore throat after awhile? And talking to some guy in a pub, while he waited to be strong enough to Apparate from Berlin to Düsselheim, he learned that German had about eleven words (Harry lost count) for "he" or "she", masculine or feminine forms. What the hell? Harry would lose his mind if he ever tried to learn German. Anyone who tried to learn it would get a "good luck" and a look of pity from him. And if they actually succeeded, he would nominate them for an Order of Merlin, he would.

Düsselheim was a small farming community. Mostly Muggles, he figured, from all the machinery that they used. But not all were, because he had gotten several bows, handshakes, and garbled conversation that he could only smile and nod at, not understanding one word of German.

There was a small library, a one-room schoolhouse that, he learned, was for Wizarding children, ages five through ten, so that they could learn to read, write, do sums, and basic history, until they were ready for Wizarding school. He didn't know if Germany had a Wizarding school, what is was called, how 'prestigious' it was supposed to be, but he didn't really care. Hogwarts was supposed to be the best school in the entire world, so that's all he needed to know.

Snape's owner, according to Percy and the Ministry of Magic (who had not let him see Snape's files – they apparently didn't care that he was Harry Potter enough to try to get someone to speak English to him), had the last name Müller. Apparently that was a pretty common last name. It didn't help that Müller's first name was "Joseph", either. Everyone knew a Joseph.

Harry had stopped in a small café to try and get directions (and had failed miserably. Perhaps he should have learned enough German to function. Maybe that's why Koing never replied to any of his letters - Koing probably didn't know English. Harry could be such a dumbass sometimes). He had spent a lot of time just walking around, thankful for sizing charms, so that he could carry his trunk in his pocket and not have to lug it around. Düsselheim was small in population, but big, land-wise. There were some huge farms out there. It didn't help that there seemed to be a lot of 'Müller''s living in Düsselheim. Apparently it was a common last name in Germany? Who knew?

He had went to the post office and had managed to mail Ron and Hermione, telling them that he got in Düsselheim safely. He hadn't had much trouble in the post office - the guy in the pub in Berlin had said that Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, could be used in all of Britain, Germany, Poland, France, Sweden, Fiji, and Canada. So he had just had to hand over the right amount of money, and the post lady, beaming and smiling, probably glad to serve _the_ Harry Potter, tied his letter to an owl and sent it off. He really didn't know how the owls would know where to find Ron and Hermione, but owls were smart that way, somehow. Hedwig had always found Sirius, even when Sirius was probably hiding out in the Bahamas somewhere, from the Ministry. Owls were just really magical, he supposed. And smart. Smarter than he was, anyway. Not that that was hard to do (what was he thinking, writing Koing all those letters in _English_? Dumbass).

He needed to find the Joseph Müller's address, so he could stop by and say 'hello', see how Snape was doing, and hopefully offer to buy him. He had gotten several addresses from well-meaning people in Düsselheim, but none of those seemed to be the right Joesph Müller, he was fairly certain. The guy had to be a wizard, and would probably recognize the name 'Severus Snape', if not the scar on Harry's head, if it was the right guy. Harry was starting to regret not finding a translator.

He was prepared to pay just about any amount of money, really. He could be all rich-guy like and say 'name your price'. Uncle Vernon always said that money could buy anything, and over the years, Harry decided that if love couldn't buy you what you absolutely needed, money could probably help a great deal. The rest of the stuff... well, courage, determination, cleverness, and just darn good luck could bring the rest.

He hoped Snape, wherever he was, was being clever and determined. Harry had glanced over the first couple pages of Hermione's recovery books, and really hoped those people were exaggerating. Harry knew from learning about slavery that Snape, at some point, had probably gone through a bit of physical abuse, and probably some verbal abuse as well (but Snape probably deserved the latter – it couldn't be any worse than he gave Gryffindor over the years). He hadn't told Ron and Hermione about Weston raping Snape yet, but it startled him to see that there were _chapters _in _A Road to Recovery _about sexual abuse. That book was massive, and was talking about some serious messed up heads – Harry, like Hermione said, wasn't a therapist. He liked to help... but the book made him a little worried that he was in over his head. But there was no other choice – he had to pull Snape out.

If Snape was being clever and determined, maybe he could solve his problems himself. Harry didn't think Snape would want Harry to help him recover, if he needed it, anyway. Would he hate Harry, for buying him? Even if it saved his life? Yeah, probably, but what else was new? He hated Harry, anyway; he might as well have a good reason for it, this time.

Harry Potter had done a lot in life, thanks to sheer dumb luck. He had survived the Killing Curse at age one, thanks to his mum and dumb luck. He had survived the Dursleys, thanks to blood protection and dumb luck. He had defeated Voldemort by touching Quirrell in first-year, thanks to dumb luck. Pulling Godric's sword out of the Sorting Hat? That was really thanks to Dumbledore, Fawkes and... dumb luck. Not getting bit by Remus in third-year? Thanks to Sirius. Conjuring his Patronus in third-year? Thanks to Remus. Though the end of third-year involved a lot of being at the right place at the right time, which equalled... you guessed it; dumb luck. Forth-year had been thanks to Barty Crouch Jr's interference, and definitely a lot of nerve and a little luck, and fifth-year? Well, he hadn't been really lucky at all in fifth or sixth-year, but as the Muggles said, 'you can't win them all'.

He really relied on luck more than he actually should, he supposed. But that was okay, because luck, like trouble, had a tendency of finding him. He attributed it to luck that on his first evening in Düsselheim, on May 5th, 1999, he was ambling down a long dirt road in Düsselheim on his broomstick, somewhat idly looking for an address he had be given, that he saw a sign in the front of someone's driveway that read _'Müller Eier. Preiswert. Biologisch. Die besten Eier in ganz Norddeutschland. Kommen Sie her, kaufen Sie ein Dutzend und finden Sie heraus, ob wir die Wahrheit_ _sagen (wir sagen sie)_' and underneath the Germans words, in just slightly smaller letters, 'Müller Eggs. Cheap. Organic. The best eggs in all of northern Germany. Drive up, buy a dozen, and find out if we're telling the truth (we are)'.

**A/N:**_ Sorry for the wait and the shortness of the chapter. But what the muse demands, the muse gets._

_The name ' Düsselheim' stolen from _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971). _It is a fictitious town, as far as I am aware. And Harry's rambling comments mean no offense to any German citizens. Personally, I like the Germans – many of my ancestors are from there, so I have grown up with the German jokes and jabs – it was only natural to insert them here._

_And on a happy note – Happy 50th Birthday, Severus Snape! Here's to about 100 more! And don't listen to those who say that you died nearly twelve years ago – they don't know what they're talking about._


	33. Hoping Against Hope

D**isclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's **_**Harry Potter**_** series. Thanks!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three**  
**"Hoping Against Hope"**

* * *

_All right, Harry, this is either a trap or not the right guy,_ Harry told himself. _Come on, 'drive up'? Why not 'fly in'? Or 'Apparate over'? Or... or anything else? Drive up? Wizards don't drive._

_Unless t__he sign is catering to Muggles, _he reasoned.

_It _is_ catering to Muggles. Because Muggles put it up!_

_You don't know that. The person who puts it up obviously knows both German and English. They have to be Wizards._

That seemed like a pretty good argument, but that didn't necessary settle it. Did it really matter if the people owning the house were wizards or not? All that really mattered was that Harry liked eggs, and needed recommendations or directions to a hotel in Düsselheim or nearby, since he hadn't been able to find one that afternoon. And it would be nice to talk to someone in English, Wizard or Muggle. Harry, unlike most Wizards, was very comfortable around Muggles. Actually, he was almost more comfortable around Muggles than he was Wizards, since they didn't treat him like a god or something. The only reason he wasn't absolutely more comfortable around them was answering questions about his past. 'Oh, um, I'm just getting out of school. Yeah, I took a gap year last year, before I even left school. No, it's not a university. Yes, I am eighteen. Yeah, I know I'm short for my age. Oh, this scar? Um, car crash. Yeah, I was just a baby. Don't remember it. Where am I from? Er... Surrey, I guess. Went to boarding school in Scotland growing up, though. Did I miss my family while at boarding school? No."

Yeah, it was easier conversing with Wizards, definitely.

He dismounted his broomstick and pulled his wand out of his pocket, shrinking his broom, which he stowed away. He then put his wand back in his pocket, taking care to make sure that no one would be able to see it there. What would Muggles think – if Muggles did live there - if somebody wandered up to their house with an odd shape in his pocket? They might think it was some kind of gun or weapon. Or that the guy wandering up was just really weird, to be carrying around a stupid stick. Not that it was a stupid stick - it was a wand that matched Voldemort's core, thanks to sheer dumb luck, that saved his life more than once. But Muggles wouldn't know that, and Harry was in no mood to explain.

The driveway was a really long one. He supposed that had something to do with it being farmland. Whenever he saw pictures of farms, the houses were always pretty far back from the road, and the driveways were long. Hm. Did Wizards have driveways, normally? He couldn't see why they would need one, except to blend in with the Muggles. There was so much he didn't know.

The house was a simple one, he saw, as he got closer. It was a small two-story. It was white with green shutters. There was a kind of shabby looking barn that was really big, like the ones Harry had seen in picture books. Only it wasn't painted red, like all the ones in picture books. It was just brown. Though there looked to be a chicken coop attached, with chickens inside, all in their nest boxes. That was neat.

The yard itself was pretty silent. Yeah, there was the sounds of chickens clucking, but they weren't doing it too loudly. He supposed it was because they were probably asleep. There were lights on in the house, which made sense, because it was only seven o'clock in the evening in Düsselheim. But aside from that, everything was silent.

Until Harry heard his least favourite sound; the sound of a dog barking. He hated dogs, and had for as long as he could remember. Aunt Marge's always chased him up a tree or bit his leg or did something else that made Harry feel stupid. He had wanted to kick Ripper more than once. Now, the only dog he liked was Fang. And he wasn't _overly_ fond of Fang... Fang was all right, he supposed. But the only exception to the 'all dogs are to stay away from Harry Potter' rule he set for all the dogs around him. Oh, and there was Padfoot. He loved Padfoot, but Padfoot didn't count. Nor did Moony. Well, maybe Moony counted. Moony had to stay away unless he was on Wolfsbane. Not that that mattered - Moony was dead.

The dog was standing outside the barn. He was big - he probably went up to Harry's waist or higher. The dog was black, and had yellow eyes. Each tooth looked to be about as long as Harry's fingers, and the slobber it had, dripping from it's jaws down to the ground, could rival the slobber of Fluffy's (yes, he hated Fluffy, too). It didn't look to be leashed to the barn, but there could be a ward up, keeping it close to the barn. But it would be dangerous to assume that, seeing is how its owners were maybe Muggles. And Muggles didn't have wards.

He pulled his wand out of his pocket and aimed it at the dog. He didn't know what spell he could use against it if it decided to attack - _Expelliarmus_ and _Expecto Patronum_ were his signature spells, but they didn't work against dogs. He could Petrify him - yeah, that would work. Or Immoblize him. Or _Stupefy_ him. Yeah. When in doubt, _Stupefy_. Seemed like a good plan to him.

"Nice doggy," he said, his voice quavering somewhat as he held his wand out and walked sideways to the house, so he wouldn't have to turn his back to the dog. He couldn't remember if there was some sort of rule to 'never turn your back to a dog', but if there was, he didn't want to risk it. "Nice puppy."

Apparently the dog didn't like to be called 'puppy' - he bounded towards Harry. Harry aimed a _Stupefy_ somewhat in the dog's direction and ran towards the front porch of the house. Maybe the dog's owners would rescue him. Though if the _Stupefy_ worked, he have a lot of explaining to do to the Muggles of what he did to their dog.

He leapt up on the small porch, just as a man stepped out of the front door, holding a wand threateningly. He was yelling in German at the dog until he saw Harry, then he had his eyes on him.

"_Wer sind Sie?_" He said, lowering the wand slightly. But just slightly.

Harry held up his hands in surrender. That was the same in every language, right? _Well, I guess he's not a Muggle. Geez, if these people want to sell eggs, they might want to get rid of their dog. _"I'm sorry." He said slowly, as if the man might understand him better if he spoke slower. "I saw the sign up front and-"

A woman's voice came up behind the man. A woman stepped out from the front door. She had brown hair that was swept back in a knot behind her head. Her face was tanned, and careworn. She was wiping her hands on a dishcloth. She seemed to be talking to the man.

Harry watched them speak back and forth. He was kind of confused - the people were supposed to speak English, right? Why would they have put their sign out in English if they couldn't speak it? How had the sign been in English if they couldn't write it? Did they know the sign was out there?

"Harry Potter!" The woman exclaimed.

Harry jumped slightly, not expecting to hear that out of the woman's mouth. "Um, yeah." He smiled somewhat sheepishly.

"You'll have to forgive my husband." The woman had a German accent, but her English was flawless, so far. "We've had young boys sneaking out here, stealing our chickens or tapping on our daughter's window. Baldur," she motioned to the dog, "is trained to attack anyone and anything he doesn't know."

_Oh. Right. So you have a man-eating dog at a place where you are supposed to sell eggs. Real bright._

The man began to speak rapidly in German.

"He is wondering what you are doing in Düsselheim." his wife translated, reaching out and lowering her husband's wand with her hand. "It is far away from England."

_I was wondering if you had a slave named Snape? Oh, and I need hotel recommendations. _"It's a long story, really." He admitted. "See, I'm looking for a..." not a friend. 'Teacher' would sound dumb... "A person I know." He finished, weakly. "I heard he was in Düsselheim, somewhere, and someone pointed me this direction. I saw your sign about the eggs, and-"

"Come in, come in." The woman ushered him into the house. She than began to talk over her shoulder to her husband, in German. Harry didn't know what she was saying, but from her tone, it was probably orders.

"Anna!" She called. Harry couldn't make out the rest she said – it was in German.

A mousy girl, who looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, peeked out of a door. Her eyes widened as she stared at Harry. She than turned and ran back into the room she came from.

The woman just chuckled. "Anna is shy. And a big fan." She assured Harry, motioning with her hands when she said 'big'.

_No kidding._ He looked around the house. It was small. There was a small sitting room to the right, and the kitchen to the left, which was where Anna was at. There was a narrow staircase in the hall, that probably led to bedrooms or something.

"Have you eaten?" She asked, ushering Harry into the kitchen. "We normally don't eat until dark. Joseph, my husband, works out on the farm until dark. There is no sense in wasting daylight, is there?"

"No, I guess there's not." He said, nervously. He hadn't really anticipated on being asked in. He had kind of expected them to just offer him a dozen eggs, for him to causally ask for hotel recommendations... and maybe mention he was looking for a person with the name Joseph Müller that owned a slave named Severus Snape. Düsselheim was a very small village – Harry reckoned everyone knew everyone.

"My husband works hard." Mrs. Müller ushered Harry to sit down at the table. "He's not time to keep up with who is who these days. He knows of you, mind you. We were all on your side, during the War. You-Know-Who did not make it to Düsselheim, but if he had, we would have fought, Mr. Potter. We would have."

Harry didn't know if it was the determination in Mrs. Müller's voice, or the look in her eyes, but he believed her. "Thank you." He said, shifting awkwardly in the chair he was sitting in. For a hard backed chair, it sure felt like it had a bunch of cushions on it. It must be some sort of charm.

"He just hadn't a clue what you looked like." Mrs. Müller poured a mug of coffee. "Sugar or cream?"

Harry didn't really like coffee – he'd had a sip of Hermione's once but it had been really bitter and nasty. He hadn't known what she had had in it... "Erm, it's fine like it is." he said, uncertainly. He couldn't tell her 'no' – that would be rude. _See, I have manners._ Aunt Petunia always said that Harry didn't have any.

He took a sip of the steaming coffee and made a face. Ugh. It was even more bitter than Hermione's had been. Why would anyone drink that stuff?

Mrs. Müller continued to buzz around the kitchen. Harry noted that the kitchen wasn't built like the Weasley's kitchen, with magical cupboards and such. It looked just like a Muggle kitchen.

"I cook the Muggle way, too." He offered, lamely. He hadn't actually cooked in awhile, since his last time at the Dursleys, but he didn't know _how_ to cook the Wizarding way, so in the future, he'd have to get a Muggle kitchen installed in his house. Or get a house-elf... but he wanted to stay friends with Hermione.

_And you could always get Snape to do the cooking... _Harry had to snort at the idea. The idea of Snape working in a kitchen, probably wearing a frilly apron, was laughable. The day Snape did something just because Harry told him to would be the day hell froze over. For all Harry knew, Snape had written the letter to harry while he had been drunk. Or having a bad day. Harry couldn't imagine Snape willingly submitting to inane chores Harry could give him. Chores Harry didn't need to give him – Harry was still living at Hogwarts until the Order could find him a house – hopefully within the next couple days - and even then, he liked to work. Not like a Hufflepuff, who worked hard, but he just liked to work. It was kind of weird, actually.

Mrs. Müller called throughout the house in German. Harry couldn't understand a word she said, but watched as the man, Mrs. Müller's husband, gruffly came in and sat down at the head of the table. The mousy girl, Anna, followed and sat, wide-eyed, across the table from Harry. She didn't take her eyes off of him until he smiled at her – then she ducked her head in embarrassment.

The conversation at the table was not much - Harry gathered that the man spoke no English, and the daughter very little. Mrs. Müller spoke quite a bite at the table, mostly English, but replies were not much needed - only the occasional nod and "uh-huh".

"Our boys go to school." Mrs. Müller informed Harry, proudly. "Our oldest child, Elsa, she left school last year, and is due to marry a fine young boy she met there, next year."

Harry nodded, acting as if he cared. Hundreds of Wizarding families had children that went to school all over the globe. He had assumed that if they had any kids, they'd be at school. Except for the young girl at the table, of course.

"So, you're not eleven yet?" He asked her. She looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, but maybe she was like Lavender Brown and looked mature for her age. When Lavender was eleven, Harry had thought she was sixteen or something. She had been, er, developed much more than the other girls.

The girls turned scarlet and took a sudden interest to the food on her plate, but her mum laughed heartily. "Anna is our little angel," she said, lovingly. "She is fifteen, but is magically impaired, so she attends school here with the Muggle children." she spoke rapidly in German to Anna.

Magically impaired? What was magically impaired? Harry had never heard of anyone being magically impaired before. Did that mean the girl was like Neville and had trouble doing magic sometimes?

He turned a little red, but not much - he was used to making an idiot out of himself. "I'm sorry, but I kind of grew up Muggle." he explained, "What's 'magically impaired' mean?"

"It means she cannot do magic." Mrs. Müller said to him, gently. "In German, it is a different word, but we don't use that word around our house. It's damaging to one's self-esteem."

Oh. Anna was a squib. Sounded like Mrs. Müller had been reading _The Road To Recovery_. "Oh." he said, making sure to smile at the girl again. "There's nothing wrong with that - it's not her fault or anything." _It's not like she's stupid._ He didn't understand a lot of the big deals about Pureblood and magical abilities and stuff, but tried to understand he did. He just couldn't understand why you would possibly not like someone or want to kill them because their blood wasn't pure or because they didn't have any magic.

"Of course not!" Mrs. Müller exclaimed with a smile. "Our family is really grateful to you, Mr. Potter. Completely indebted. Were it not for you, our Anna would have been taken by You-Know-Who soon enough." she shuddered.

He coughed. _When in doubt, change the subject. "_You sell eggs." Harry said. "I noticed that on the sign outside. I really like to eat eggs, you see, and I was wondering if I could-"

"Oh, of course!" Mrs. Müller exclaimed. "Before you leave, I will give you some."

'-wondering if I could buy some from you,' Harry had been going to say. "How much are they?" he asked, just in case.

She shook her head. "If you think you're going to buy them from us, you have another thing coming. I told you that wee were indebted to you, were you listening?"

She had said something like that at some point. "Well, um, er, thanks." he said, weakly. "Say, is there a motel around here, somewhere? I looked earlier, but couldn't find one."

She nodded. "There is a bed and breakfast down town, but we've plenty of room here. If you would like to stay-"

Harry trusted people. It was an automatic reflex. He was a Gryffindor – Gryffindors immediately assumed everyone was good until proven innocent, unless, of course, they are told an evil mad man who killed their parents is trying to kill them – then they don't really care who is proved what, and didn't trust them... even when they really should.

He didn't think that the Müller family were bad people – as far as complete strangers that idolized you and fed you supper went, they were pretty great. But he couldn't keep his mind off why he was there, or what his mission really was.

"Oh, no, that's fine." Harry said, pushing his food around his plate. "I'm here on business, you see."

Mrs. Müller forward in interest. "Oh?"

He hardly knew where the begin. "See, there's this guy I know who I'm trying to find." Harry tried to explain. "I'm pretty sure he's in Düsselheim, but I don't know where, really."

Mrs. Müller flipped her hand. "Oh, we know most everyone in Düsselheim. Joseph and I grew up here, you know."

No, Harry didn't know. "Okay, good, then."

It seemed too easy. And if they were the owners of Snape, that would mean they were pretty rotten people. But they weren't – they seemed _nice_. They had said that they were on _his_ side. How could they want to be slave owners – owning _Snape_ of all people – and be so _nice_?

He squirmed in his seat. "Mr. Müller is named Joseph?" He double-checked. "Um, well, I was kind of looking for someone by that name."

Mrs. Müller began to speak rapidly once again to her husband. Harry didn't understand a word they were saying to one another, but he waited for a pause to interject, "He's not the guy I'm looking for, but I think he might know him. You see... does your family own any slaves?"

* * *

_Severus was a dark dungeon. It was almost too dark to see in, but there was a small torch on the wall, illuminating the dungeon just enough to see the iron bars that locked him in. He was shackled to the wall, arms and legs outstretched. There was also a shackle securing his neck to the wall – he was rendered incapable of movement._

_The air around him was cold. There was a draft of cold air blowing against his naked body, but he did not know where it was coming from, nor could he stop it from coming. His entire body trembled, his teeth chattered, but it was painful to move in the slightest – the shackles cut against his wrists, down to the bone. He had been in the shackles for a long time, and they had a tendency to tear up skin when you spent too much time in ones secured too tightly._

_His body was not only cold, but aching. He ached all over. It hurt to breathe, to think... he was not concious of much, except the musty smell of the dungeon, and the smells of blood, sex, sweat, and tears. The smells of pain. The smells of torture._

_The screams that had once been prevalent throughout the dark dungeon that he could not see well in were gone – those being tortured had all died, blacked out, or given away the information that they had been tortured for. The puppy chained in the corner was dead, too – it was being eaten by small, yellow maggots._

_He heard a creaking sound, and looked over to the door of the bars. Three hooded people were coming in. Their faces were covered in white masks, so Severus did not know who they were, exactly. But it did not matter, for they were all one and the same. One was exactly the same as the other – male or female, black or white, tall or short, they were all the same. It did not matter what language they spoken or what their motives were – the treatment of Severus would always be the same._

_One began to laugh. A loud laugh, a high-pitched laugh, that was distinctly female. The sound made Severus cringe, and wish to cover his ears. But he could not – he could not move._

"_Are you that scared?" she taunted. "Poor, poor Severus – the mongrel is so afraid of us he wet himself!"_

_It was then that Severus began concious of the stream of urine coming from his body, droplets streaking down his leg. He could not help it – he had not been allowed to use a loo in the longest time, and did not even think about it any longer. It had nothing to do with fright – but he could not tell her that. To tell her that would only invoke anger._

"_Stop it, Bella." a man growled from behind his mask. "We're not here for that today."_

_Severus closed his eyes tightly, pulling himself up the best he could to take another breath. If they were not there to taunt his position, what were they there for? He did not mind it when they taunted him – he did not even know why they did it. Yes, he was chained to a wall, unable to do anything. He wasn't hungry any longer, for the gnawing pains in his stomach had disappeared after he did not know how many days after not eating. He occasionally had someone pour dirty sewer water down his throat that went down so fast, he choked, but he did not know what was funny about it. He knew that he was not wearing clothes whilst they were, but that did not bother him at all. He hadn't worn clothes in a long time. He did not know where there was to taunt him over that would bother him._

_If there were not there to taunt him, were they there to give him water? Normally, only one or two masked figures came in there to do that. Whenever it was more than that, it was not to give him water, that was certain._

_Without warning, the shackles around him opened, causing him to fall hard on the concrete floor. He did not cry out in pain as he felt something crack in both knees, for he was used to that. He would only be able to drag himself around on the floor for now, but soon enough, they would heal on it's own._

_He brought up his wrists to examine them. He could see the bones, for all the flesh around them had been eaten away. That was fine – so long as the bone was still there, his hands would still be connected. That was fine._

"Crucio_!" the woman called out in a shrill voice._

_The world around him disappeared at that moment. He did not feel anything, not even the pain coursing through his body. He was past that now – all he felt was numbness, and his blood pounding against his tattered skin. But it did not _hurt_, like he knew it was supposed to. Even as the woman raised the concentration of the spell, and targeted it to specific locations – the head, the chest, the groin, his left foot... it did not hurt. The nerves were mostly all gone, now. The spell left nothing but a dull ache, but he was not even sure if that was the spell, or his body giving out on him._

_He heard the spell end, and was aware of something protruding his anus. That did not hurt, either. Even as the object went much further than what others might deem acceptable and tore something within him, he did not cry out. He never cried out, for that was worthless. Once upon a time, he had stopped crying out because he had realised it only encouraged his torturers – now he did not simply because he didn't. He never spoke at all, nor did he yell, or scream. Not a sound ever escaped from his mouth, except for the occasional laboured breath._

_He opened the eyes he had shut at some point to realise that he was only being tortured by the woman, who was armed with a wand. An ebony wand, fifteen inches. He knew instinctively that it had a dragon heartstring – he did not know how he knew that. He simply did._

_The two men had taken off their masks, and were simply watching him in amusement. One had a face of pale white. The man had no nose, and only slits for eyes. The other man had a pale complexion as well, with sharp facial features. Not a blonde hair fell out of place. He knew who they were, for those men often haunted his nightmares. In his deepest, darkest moments, the faces of those men came to him. As the wand protruded deeper into his body, as the pain began to flood his body in places he knew not possible, he let out a anguished cry._

* * *

Harry had to take two steps for every one of Mr. Müller's long strides, out to the barn. They had stopped at the coat rack for Harry to put on his hoodie and Mr. Müller his red and black flannel coat, and then headed outside for the large barn Harry had seen on the way in.

Harry had spent months trying to find Snape. He had spent so much time and effort on it – and a bit of money, too. He should have been elated to be so _close_ to finding him. So why was he so nervous? Why was a pit in his stomach, making him sick?

_You're just excited, _he told himself as the night air blew inside his ears. _You're just afraid it's not him. You're afraid that tomorrow, you're going to have to wake up in the morning and go search for him, again. Probably in the Americas, somewhere, at this rate he's being bought and sold._

The big dog burst out of his doghouse and began barking a loud bark at them, which caused Harry to reflexively try to hide behind Mr. Müller. Mr. Müller called the dog off. The dog was apparently pretty well trained, because he stopped barking. He did follow at Mr. Müller's right side though, trotting beside them as they approached the barn.

The big double-doors to the barn were shut, save the right one, which was cracked open just a few inches. The dog slipped through before Mr. Müller could open the heavy door, and Harry figured that was why the door was open – so the dog could get in, in case there was a bad storm or something and his doghouse wasn't enough. That made sense.

Inside the barn was very dimly lit. There was a single torch lit on the wall. That was how most Wizarding households lit things, using wood torches on the wall. It took a little getting used to when Harry first entered the Wizarding world – he had gotten worried that they would catch things on fire, and wouldn't all the smoke turn the ceiling black? But he had quickly been informed that the fire was charmed against going anywhere but on the torch, and the ceilings were charmed against most staining... and even if there was accumulated smoke on the ceiling, it could be removed with a simple cleaning charms that Harry would someday learn in Charms, when he was older.

Well, he was older and had learned the charms in Professor Flitwick's class. He still hadn't quite understood the large speech McGonagall had given him on the torches, though – why couldn't she have said 'don't worry about it'? All professors were like that, trying to cram a bunch of unnecessary information into some poor kid's already crammed mind.

In the dim barn, he could see wood walls, some posts probably supporting the barn, a steel rusted piece of machinery lying against the wall, and a floor made of mostly packed dirt, with some stray pieces of straw here and there. A _Lumos_ from Mr. Müller made the lighting in the barn much better.

There were old pieces of machinery here and there, but none of them looked too able to operate. Not that Harry knew anything about it – when Dudley and the other kids in primary school had gone to a field trip to visit a farm, Harry had stayed in the classroom and coloured pictures of cows, which had been pretty boring, because the spots were already inked black from the paper, and the paper was white, so what was the use? Plus, it had just taunted him, to know the other kids were actually looking at real cows, which Harry only ever got to see out the window of the station wagon on long trips. Oh, and he had watched _Pinocchio_, a cartoon about some wooden kid with a big nose that almost turned into a donkey. That had been one scary film... even scarier because the class came back right then, and Harry had never found out if Pinnochio ever turned into a real boy, or if he was cursed to stay a donkey forever. It had given him nightmares for three weeks, that film did. And to think that that experience would have never happened had the Dursleys spared the three pounds needed for the field trip.

There were three stalls at the far end of the barn – two had one horse each in it, that were standing up with their eyes closed. They were snorting, and twitching, and stomping... in their sleep. And the other stalls had a bunch more old machinery in it, that Harry could tell.

There was a loft above their heads, he figured by looking up. There was a wood ladder leading up there – the loft was full of hay, as far as he could tell. He wondered if it would be comfortable to sleep up there – all one would need would be a blanket, and they could just curl up in the straw and go to sleep. They might not even need a blanket – the straw seemed like it would be warm.

About halfway through the barn on the right side of the wall, was a silver coloured chain. It was a pretty short chain – it gave the person attached to it little room to move about, which probably explained why the person was curled up in a corner, really close to the wall of the barn, which was missing a small bit of plank right next to where the person was curled up at.

The _smell_ protruding from the person was horrible. Harry was a good fifteen feet or so away from the person, and still then could barely keep from gagging. The person smelled like Harry when Harry got back from playing a eight hour Quidditch game – no, the person smelled like the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team after an eight hour game. After an eight hour game that they _won_, so they were too busy partying to shower. Only with a smell like that, the Gryffindor team hadn't showered after about three or four weeks of showering. Harry didn't think that Demelza would go for that – Ginny and the others might, but Demelza would rather die.

His heart sank as he took in the form, curled up as to face away from him. As for the head, he could only see a tangled mass of black hair that was tied in little teeny tiny knots and snarls on the back of the person's head. The spine was sticking out of the body so that you could see every vertebrae. There were a whole lot of other bones Harry could see sticking out of the back that Harry didn't know the names to – he only knew "Spine" and "vertebrae". Bone names were for the fourteen-year-olds, back when Harry was in primary school, and they had never learned them at Hogwarts.

The hip bones stuck out painfully – Harry was afraid that if the person moved, the bone would tear through the skin. The legs were long, and really skinny. The person had chicken legs, like Harry's own. Except that Harry wasn't _that_ skinny – and Harry was the skinniest person he had ever met, except for Voldemort when Voldemort came back in Harry's fourth year. Voldemort had been pretty darn skinny – Harry would bet his entire vault that Voldemort had had chicken legs, too.

The person's skin tone was hard to measure – they had "white" skin, Harry gathered that much, but the skin certainly didn't look white from the angle the person was laying. The skin was bright pink, almost _red_. It was also covered in all manner of dirt and dust. Harry wondered how red the skin would look if you took the dirt off – it was probably much more red than it appeared to be, with the dirt making the colour not as bright.

What was most frightening was the amount of scars covering the person's body. Pink or white, raised, jagged scars marred not only the person's back, but the shoulders, arms, thighs... and probably more. There were a big dried up cuts that Harry could see, too. And Harry wasn't looking as close as he could be.

Harry took a tentative step closer. He didn't know why – he had seen enough to last him a lifetime. Whether this person was his teacher or not, the condition of this person was horrible. Harry had once heard Aunt Petunia describe Harry as "deplorable", and Harry had asked his teacher, Mrs. Fuchs, what "deplorable" meant – she had told him that it meant "bad" or in "poor condition". Harry had been in poor condition – he wasn't fed very much very often, but if that was deplorable, then the person owned by Mr. Müller was really, really, really deplorable – times infinity. He tried not to grimace at the amount of grime that had obviously accumulated _really_ badly around the person's ankles, lower regions, and neck, but it was hard not to stare. It was like every contour of his body, every cranny, held a massive amount of dirt and other stuff.

He found himself holding out hope that it _wasn't_ Snape. As much as he had hoped their slave was Snape, now he really wasn't. He didn't think he could deal with it, knowing that was Snape. The hair was sort of greasy looking, but it didn't look that bad, actually. Nothing compared to the greasiness of Snape's – Snape's hair had looked like he had lard poured over it. This man's didn't look quite that bad.

Harry squirmed a bit as he continued to study the person. It was kind of uncomfortable – even though the man was chained to the wall, which was not very humane, the guy was a human. Harry had never studied a naked person before, but it felt kind of awkward. And wrong. Kind of embarrassing, for both him and the man. It was also kind of embarrassing to note all the piles spread out randomly throughout the area the man could be in, with the chain. Of course the man hadn't access to a loo, chained up as he was. It was... barbaric. He applauded himself silently for such a good word to describe the horror with.

The man began to mutter unintelligibly, causing Harry to jump back in alarm. The voice was garbled, and wasn't speaking coherently. The man was muttering very quietly, almost in whispers. His voice was really hoarse sounding, but it was a pretty deep voice, It wasn't like Harry's own, which was on the higher end of the scale – Seamus' was like that, too. And George's. It was deeper, like Ron's, or Neville's, or... or like Snape's.

Mr. Müller began to speak to Harry in a low voice. He was using a lot of hand gestures as he spoke, pointing to Snape, or just waving his hands around, but Harry couldn't understand him, not a word of it.

"Sorry." Harry apologized, feeling kind of stupid. Not because he couldn't understand German, but because he was telling the man he couldn't understand him in _English_, when the man had already pretty much established he couldn't understand English! But what was a kid to do? Ignore him?

Harry jumped to the other end of the barn as the man chained to the corner suddenly, without no warning, began to scream in his sleep. Harry jumped to the other side, shaking because he was startled. And filled with fear, because the man who just let out the scream had woken himself up with his own scream, and had sat up, turned, and faced Harry and Mr. Müller with wide eyes – it was, beyond a doubt, former Professor Severus Snape.

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Thirty-Four: _Again?_**

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**A/N: I am so sorry for the lack of updates! My computer crashed, and has been out of order since the 12th of January. When I logged in this afternoon, the amount of reviews and messages shocked me. Thanks so much for your support, and no, 'Unwell' is not abandoned – just on accidental hiatus, thanks to computer problems. I hope this extra-long chapter was worth waiting for! Thanks again.**


	34. Resurfacing Memories

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's _Harry Potter_** **series. Thanks! **

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four  
"Resurfacing Memories"**

* * *

Severus couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Just like in the nightmare, only this was real. He thought it was real – he was never sure any more what was real and what was not, or even what ''real' meant, any longer. But he did know what he thought he saw.

He saw Master standing there, arms crossed around his chest, looking at Severus with a certain look in his eye. Severus had never seen his master with that look before, but that did not mean anything, for he had not seen many looks on his master's face before. This master had a hard look that he had whilst he was working, an annoyed one when he was annoyed, a tired look, and a happy look. Severus had never seen this particular master too angry, but he did not think this was an angry look. What type of expression it was, he didn't know. Concerned, perhaps... but concerned over what? Severus knew nothing of his master's personal life, but surely there was nothing to be concerned over in the barn.

But standing a few paces behind Master was what was giving Severus fright. For a few paces behind Master stood a young boy. The boy was not tall, though Severus had met shorter people in his lifetime. The boy had unruly black hair that stuck in every which direction except the direction it was supposed to lay in. The boy was thin, and wore clothes that made him blend in with Muggles, even though he was far from Muggle. He had a wand sticking out of his back pocket, Severus knew without looking. The boy wore glasses on his face, over his vibrant green eyes that were now wide with... with an expression Severus knew well. Shock.

Severus had known this boy, once upon a time. Truth be told, he had mostly forgotten about him. He had forgotten about most of his past life. Not truly forgotten, for it was not gone forever, but he had pushed it back so to not to think about it. He didn't want to think about it, simply because he didn't like to. He couldn't even remember now, why. But seeing the boy flooded back many memories that Severus suppressed without much trouble. Suppressing the questions and fright that filled him was another thing, altogether.

He leaned as far back as he could against the splintering wood, and hugged his knees to himself. What was Pot... Mr. Potter doing there? Mr. Potter lived in England... or was it Scotland? Severus didn't know – too many years had passed - but he knew that Master did not live in an English speaking country, so that Mr. Potter could not be there by mistake. But why? Why would Mr. Potter be there?

Severus remembered writing Mr. Potter a letter, with a secret message in it, long ago. Years ago, when he had still belonged to... to who? It must have been his other master, for The Monster... yes, it had been his other master,, because whilst owned by Master Mering or The Monster, Severus had not written any letters. He had been a bad slave, and put a secret message in there. All those years ago, he had been afraid of going to The Monster. How foolish Severus had been – had he not known that he could not control his fate, that he needed to accept whatever came his mind? There was not even acceptance – it was simply doing whatever he was told.

But why was Mr. Potter there _now_.? Had he just now gotten the letter? Impossible – Severus had to have sent the letter... how many years ago? Ten, five? Certainly no less than three, but even three seemed too short of a time. He had been at Master's for only a few months, he knew by the snow, but he had been at The Monster's for... Merlin, forever.

"Hello, Professor." Mr. Potter squeaked out, taking a step forward.

Severus backed even further against the wall. Or tried to – he couldn't, and only succeeded in breaking another plank off the old wood barn. He glanced nervously at Master, prepared for a hex or scolding, but Master did not even blink. Master punished Severus through stinging hexes and no food – sometimes he scolded, but Severus had never seen him angry. He didn't want to ever anger his master. It was wrong.

_Professor. Professor. Professor. Professor. Professor..._ the words rang in Severus' head. Mr. Potter called him 'professor'. Severus had been a professor in his past life (had that really been him? Impossible. He pushed the memory deep into the recesses of his mind).

That was why Mr. Potter was there. It all made sense. He was angry at Severus for doing all the bad things Severus had done. Severus had done a lot of things to anger Mr. Potter. Of course Mr. Potter was angry about it. Master would let Mr. Potter punish him for all the bad things he had done – of course, that would require a long time of getting punished. Severus wouldn't cry out, unless he thought Mr. Potter or Master wanted him to. He could be punished, though. Not that he had a choice in that.

His entire body shook. How would they punish him? Lashes with a whip? A normal, leather whip? A whip with glass or other sharp objects on the end? A whip magically caught on fire? How many lashes? Ten? Fifteen? Forty? Six hundred? He had never been able to count the lashes more than thirty-seven before he either passed out or stopped caring enough to count them, but he did not know if he could survive six hundred. His back had been really hurt by lashes in the past, he didn't know how much more it could handle.

Or would they starve him? He had gone long times without eating. He didn't know how long, really, but it had been a long time. The Monster had only fed Severus canned dog food, and Master gave Severus mostly animal food or grain or whatever it was – the dog ate it most, anyway, so Severus only got some when he didn't lick the bowl clean. But starving him would not let Mr. Potter see Severus in pain, which was surely what Mr. Potter wanted.

He watched as Mr. Potter and Master began talking to each other. He didn't know what they were saying, and didn't listen closely enough to try to figure it out. There was many curses and hexes to place on a person – all Master would have to do would be to hold his wand to Severus' forehead for really bad pain. Or the Cruciatus.. Or almost anything... Severus had not been used since The Monster – he had been really good at not hurting any more, and not bleeding at all, but he thought he would now, if they wanted to torture him by using him. But they couldn't torture him by using him – he hadn't been used in a long, long time, but he remembered that he liked it. He didn't remembered specifically a time liking it, but every time he thought about being used, he remembered he liked it, so it must be true.

His breathing became heavier as Mr. Potter took a few steps over to him. "Hello, Prof- Snape. Do you remember me?" Mr. Potter asked. He had a big smile on his face that showed too many teeth. It was a fake smile. A smile, but that did not matter, because all smiles that people gave Severus were fake. No one ever wanted to smile at him unless they were really smiling at their plan, which usually involved sex or punishment or both.

He ducked his head. He couldn't look at Mr. Potter. Because he was scared, because he didn't know what to say, because he didn't know if he was allowed to talk, because he wasn't supposed to make eye contact with anyone that was not an equal. He hadn't met an equal in a long, lone, long time. Even The Monster's other slaves had been above him.. because being above people were not black and white – slavery meant nothing. There was ranks in that, as well. Carita at the Master and Mistresses' had called it "the food chain". She was right, she was. Severus missed her.

"Do you understand me?" Mr. Potter knelt down closer to Severus. Severus felt his heart almost stop beating. He didn't want Mr. Potter to be that close. Mr. Potter couldn't touch him from where he was, but he was close enough to do a lot of bad things. Severus wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

"I'm Harry, in case you don't remember." Mr. Potter said, quietly. "From Hogwarts, remember? We fought in the War together?"

_The War? Harry Potter? _Yes, Severus remembered. He shoved the memories once again into the back of his mind, and vowed to let them never resurface. And when Severus made a vow, he kept it.

"I've been looking for you." Mr. Potter continued. "It took me a really long time. I did a bunch of stupid things trying to find you, and that's what took me so long. But I have been looking – long before I got your letter I was looking, but especially hard after that."

So Mr. Potter had gotten the secret message. How foolish of Severus to write it. He buried his face deep behind his knees, covering his head with his hands. He could pretend to hide like that – if it were Master, he would not be permitted to, but for other people, it was all right. It was not particularly rude. He was just too ashamed to look at Mr. Potter.

"That was a real creative way to send a secret message, though." Mr. Potter mused. "I would have never thought of it. I actually didn't realise it was a secret note, I first. I just thought you had forgotten how to spell or something, but Hermione showed me what a dunderhead I was being."

_Dunderhead. Dunderhead. Dunderhead. Dunderhead. Dunderhead... _Severus had called Mr. Potter a dunderhead lots of times. Oh, Merlin... he wasn't afraid of dying, for no matter what lied in wait for him in death could bed no worse than what he had already lived, but still, something in him didn't want to die. Would Mr. Potter kill him?

_You're being ridiculous, _he told himself. _It's just Harry Potter. If it's the Boy-Who-Lived, her certainly wouldn't kill you for..._

He had caused Mr. Potter a lot of pain. Mr. Potter might still think he was a... no, Mr. Potter... Severus couldn't remember what Mr. Potter thought at this point. And it didn't matter, because he wasn't thinking about his past life.

It was odd, though, how he hadn't thought of his past life in years, until Mr. Potter came long. He had thought of it more in mere moments than he had in years.

But had it been years? He peered up to look at Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter looked the same as he always had. He did not look a day older, which was ridiculous, because he was most certainly a day older. But in all honesty, he could have been no older than eighteen, or nineteen. Certainly no older than twenty-one.

Mr. Potter smiled at Severus again, which caused Severus' stomach to lurch. He hid behind his knees again. If he didn't look, perhaps Mr. Potter wasn't really there. Perhaps it was just another nightmare. Perhaps Mr. Potter would leave.

"How much do you want for him?" Severus heard Mr. Potter ask. His stomach lurched one again. Mr. Potter wanted to buy him? No, no no, no, no. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. Mr. Potter couldn't buy him. If Mr. Potter bought him, he might hurt Severus really badly. At least as long as he was owned by Master, Master wouldn't kill him. But Mr. Potter... no, Mr. Potter would kill him, without hesitation.

Or perhaps not. Mr. Potter seemed like the type who might, like The Monster, wait until Severus was almost dead and then heal him, just to torture him again. Severus could live out his full two hundred and thirty years, in pain every moment of them. He wouldn't put it past Mr. Potter to do that.

He wished the nightmare he had had just woken from was true, in the regard that the pain didn't hurt any longer. It would be wonderful, for the pain to no longer be there. It would be a dream come true - Severus wished for only half of the pain to disappear, even. That would be just wonderful - but it was just a dream. One thing was certain now, was that he was being sold for the last time. To Mr. Potter. Who would make his life a living hell.

* * *

Harry felt like throwing up. Or crying. Or just staring. He didn't know what to do. It was Snape. It really was Snape, sitting there against the wall.

Every time Harry took a step towards him, Snape backed up further against the wall. Snape's black eyes were wide, filled with terror. Harry couldn't figure out if Snape recognized him or not - it was too hard to tell.

"How much do you want for him?" He asked Mr. Müller, not taking his eyes off of Snape. He was worried that if he blinked, that if he turned away, Snape would disappear. Snape had done a lot of disappearing over the past eight months - Harry was not about to let it happen this time when he was so close.

So close. If he took about seven _long_ steps forward and outstretched his arm has far as it would go, he would be able to just barely touch Snape. That was close.

Mr. Müller didn't respond, and no wonder - for all he knew, Harry was talking to Snape, and not to him.

Harry stood up and backed away from Snape. Backed away. He didn't turn around - he didn't take his eyes off of him. "How much?" He asked, slowly. He pulled a small pouch Galleons out of his pocket and dumped them into Mr. Müller's hand. He didn't know how much Mr. Müller had bought Snape for, but Harry could probably reimburse it. He could double it. And he would, without second thought. Hell, he'd triple it.

Mr. Müller began talking, but Harry didn't know what he was saying. Mr. Müller began to tug on Harry's arm, and trying to pull him out of the barn into the house.

"No, I don't want to leave him." Harry protested, looking over at Snape. Snape was chained, like a dog, to the wall. The collar around his neck was silver, and had lots of hooks and markings on it. Harry didn't know if it was real silver or not, but it must be, otherwise, why wouldn't he just be chained with a leather collar or a cloth one? Unless it was something he didn't know about, which wouldn't surprise him any. He didn't know about a lot of things.

"Will you be all right, here?" He asked Snape, softly.

Snape just buried his face further into himself. It was a very pitiful sight to see, really. And to think that just a year ago, how proudly Snape had stood, how...

"Pro- Snape, please answer me." Harry found himself pleading. He had always thought of Snape as just that - Snape. But when it came to talking to him face-to-face, he had always called him 'Professor'. Always. Or 'sir'. But to call him that now seemed... it seemed _cruel_. It was like a taunt, taunting him that he was no longer a professor. Not even that, it just seemed... no, it was wrong. He had to call him 'Snape'. Or 'Severus', he supposed. But what if Snape got mad that Harry called him by his first name? That was pretty disrespectful... but then again, Snape was cowering in a corner, filthy, smelly, naked, chained to a wall. Harry didn't know if Snape cared much about "respect" any more - he doubted he did.

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Thirty-Five: _Waiting For This Moment_**

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**A/N: **_And here is where everything changes – and I mean it. Long drama short, I have re-written the next 15 chapters or so over, and over. I vow that this time will be the last time – I hope.  
Thank you everyone, for reading! And also thanks to those for your reviews, criticism and encouragement both!_


	35. Waiting For This Moment

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's **_**Harry Potter**_** series. Thanks you.**

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**Chapter Thirty-Five  
**_**"**_**Waiting for this Moment**_**"**_

* * *

What frightened Harry was not the idea that he was going to become a slave owner. No, he was pretty okay with that, believe it or not. When it came to the Wizarding world, he sort of just accepted things as they came. Oh, portraits can move? Okay. Slavery is legal? Meh, I can deal with that. It didn't make him proud, and it certainly wasn't something he would want splattered over the front pages of newspapers (though it definitely would be). But he could accept it and move on, because it was A., legal, and B., the right thing to do under the circumstances.

No, what bothered him was how _easy_ it was. Chasing Snape down had not been easy, _not_. Haggling with Mr. Müller could have been easier. But when it came to the actual process of buying Snape, that was so simple. The most simple thing he'd ever done... and if you asked the old Snape what the most simple thing Harry had ever done was, the man would have probably snorted and given some scathing comment about how everything Harry did was "simple". It was how Harry operated. And Harry knew that was how he operated. And he was okay with that.

At ten 'clock in the morning, he had left the bed and breakfast and to the nearest Wizarding bank, which wasn't in Düsselheim (he'd flown on his broom). He extracted 80,100 from his account - 80,000 to buy Snape, and the other 100 for just normal living expenses. Harry didn't live "high on the hog", but nor did he live in poverty. 100 Galleons was a lot of money, and would last him a fair amount of time before he needed more.

The office he found himself in was small, and kind of boring. It had grey walls, and simple carpeted floor the colour of dust. There was just enough room in the office for a desk, and two hard backed chairs that faced it (and of course, the chair behind the desk). There was a potted plant crammed in one corner, and a poster on the wall, listing the rights and privileges of the most popular magical creatures, like Hippogriffs, owls, werewolves, vampires, etc. There was also a large window behind the desk, but Harry suspected it was charmed, because it looked out over a lake, a lake he had most certainly not seen when flying in.

The man behind the desk was in Ministry uniform, complete with a hat. The entire uniform was green, meaning he worked in this particular department. He was rather portly, and was balding, but he had a wide smile on his face as he pumped Harry's hand with enthusiasm, after Harry came in the door.

"Mr. Potter!" He said, in flawless English (but then again, how hard was it to say 'Potter'?).

"Hello, Mr... Mr... hello." Harry didn't see a name tag on the man's lapel. He supposed the Ministry officials didn't think that the magical creatures would care what the names of the Ministry officials were - but they were wrong. Hedwig would've cared if she were alive, Harry'd wager, and he knew that Remus would have definitely cared. Did Bill count as a magical creature, since he was kind of part werewolf? He'd care.

"You are early." He motioned to one of the chairs across from his desk.

"Uh, is that a problem?" Harry didn't see a clock in the room, and his watch battery had died forever ago. He just hadn't gotten around to replacing it, and the feeling of the watch around his wrist was too familiar to give up. "I can leave, if you want. You know, and come back.."

"It is fine. We schedule appointments with early arrivals in mind." The Ministry official sat down at his desk and clasped his hands together. "You are ready to buy a slave?"

Harry knew that it would be plastered all over every newspaper in the world that he, Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Saviour of the World (or the Saviour of Us All in some countries), was now a slave owner. He knew that most Wizarding folk wouldn't care - they'd probably be happy for him. But he still felt embarrassed. He guessed a part of him was ashamed to be buying a slave... but it was too late to back out.

_And besides, you're not buying a _slave_. You're buying _Snape_. _Somehow, that seemed worse.

"Yeah, I guess so." He nodded. "I figured, you know... why not?"

_Damn_. He needed a cover story. The Ministry wouldn't like it if he intended to buy one of the Death Eater slaves to treat _well_. Any other slave he could treat however he wanted, but there were certain rules and stipulations to owning a Death Eater slave. Supposedly, for most people, it was a long process to buy one, as they had to have their backgrounds checked to make sure that they were not affiliated with Voldemort, that they really weren't buying one of their fellow Death Eaters to treat well. Harry was kind of glad for that rule - if Lucius Malfoy had been able to buy Snape, then he would have killed Snape for "betraying" Voldemort.

The Ministry official nodded his head. "I looked through the papers - this slave was a follower of You-Know-Who. It takes a very brave man to buy one of those slaves."

"Yeah..." Harry agreed, weakly. "I guess I'm a brave... brave man."

He heard a strangled whine outside the closed door, and it made him jump in his seat, as he looked towards the door. "What was that?"

The knock on the door answered his question. "Come in!" The Ministry official called through the door.

Mr. Müller walked in. He was wearing overalls that was probably his nicest - they weren't dirty, stained, torn up or anything. He was leading Snape on a chain. Snape was crawling on the ground, like a dog. It could only be uncomfortable.

_Why is he making Snape do that? _Harry felt the bile rise in his throat. _He can walk!_ He looked away, not being able to look any more. Instead, he focussed his eyes on the scene out the window. An artificial scene, but it was better than the reality he was being faced with.

He looked again when he heard the whining sound. Snape was balking at coming inside the office. He was not crawling any longer, but sitting on his knees, refusing to go any further inside the office.

_What's wrong? You're going to get away from Mr. Müller! You should be happy! Doesn't he realise that he's going to be safe now? _Harry could not imagine what was going through Snape's head. He opened his mouth to try to console Snape, but was too late - Mr. Müller brought him in with a stinging hex and a strong tug to the chain.

_Leash_. Harry thought, venomously. _It's a leash._

Snape looked exactly the same as he did yesterday, except that now, he was wearing something that resembled a larger version of Dobby's pillowcase. It was a drab brown colour, covered in all sorts of stains. It looked scratchy and uncomfortable, but Harry would have bet his Gringott's account that Snape thought it better than nothing. Harry certainly did.

"My, my, my..." The Ministry official chuckled awkwardly, waving his wand to clear out the incredibly foul smell that came in with Snape and Mr. Müller. Harry had been concentrating too hard on other things to realise that Snape had been brought in in all of his unwashed glory.

He discreetly wiped his dripping nose with his sleeve, hoping no one saw him.

"Sit down, Mr... Mr. Müller" The Ministry official motioned to the other seat, the one next to Harry. "I understand that you are in a rush today, so we will make this as quick as possible. Mr. Potter has already received clearance from the department to buy the slave, so all we need now is for you and Mr. Potter both to sign the papers.

Mr. Müller sat down on the seat next to Harry. Snape was crouched in a kneeling position, at Mr. Müller's right side. That was unfortunate, because it was also at Harry's left side. The closer you got to Snape, not only the smellier he got, but also the more pathetic he looked.

Harry didn't know if the lurch in his stomach was because of pity, or the smell.

"Thank you, Mr... Mr." Harry accepted the papers that the Ministry official held out to him. He positioned the quill handed to him, prepared to sign on the line at the bottom of the sheet.

The Ministry official cleared his throat. "Mr. Potter? I suggest you read the terms and conditions before you sign your name."

Right. Hermione would have killed him if he signed the parchment without looking at it. He read it over, and even though he was familiar with all he read, it served as a reminder of what he was getting himself into.

All slaves had to be wearing a collar at all times, period. It couldn't be a makeshift collar, but one Ministry approved, which Harry knew you could buy in shops, and also purchase from the Ministry. The collar could be used, not only to tie and chain as Mr. Müller used it for, but also to repress magic in the individual wearing it. Harry hoped Snape's magic wasn't being held back by the collar - that would be a shame. If magic was repressed for too long, it could kill the person, or at the very least, drive him mad.

_Maybe that's what's wrong with Snape... _Harry mused. M_aybe I can have him cast a couple Expelliarmuses or something, and then he'd be back to his old self. _It was a long-shot, though. An incredibly long-shot.

The terms and conditions also mentioned the brand that was on Snape's forehead, a brand that was black, and really, quite plain. Harry had seen pictures of the brands, and most looked really kind of elegant. Snape's was, well, just ugly.

It said that he (Harry) had a choice of whether to keep the brand visible or invisible. The advantages of keeping it visible were, obviously, so people would recognize he was a slave in the streets if he ran away, and also if Harry wanted to prohibit him from buying things in stores. If the brand was invisible, no one would know it was there except Harry and Severus - no one would be able to see it, not even them. Therefore, Harry would be able to hypothetically send Severus to, say, the bookstore and Severus could buy something without the clerks looking twice.

_Definitely invisible,_ Harry decided without a doubt in his mind. But he'd better check with Snape, to be sure.

Harry had the option of changing Snape's name at any given time. Snape's name had already been changed twice, Harry found, when he was bought by Mering to 'Severus Tobias Mering', and then again when he was bought by Mr. Müller, to 'Severus Tobias Müller'. He was tempted to ask Snape if Snape wanted to change it again, or if he wanted to keep Müller... and if he did wan it changed, what did he want it changed to, but didn't. Snape would rather die than have his last name be 'Potter', and why wouldn't he want his old name? 'Severus Tobias Snape', it would be.

There was a clause that reminded the signer that Snape was a Death Eater slave, and was a slave as punishment. Harry supposed that was to keep people from suing the Ministry or something if Snape tried the Killing Curse on Harry or something. Harry had enough money - he didn't need to sue.

He was going to pay Mr. Müller 80,000 Galleons for Snape. He had offered 25,000, and Mr. Müller had hesitated, so he jumped it right up to 80,000, which Mr. Müller readily accepted. Snape had likely cost a large amount of money, being as trained as he seemed to be. Harry had to reimburse it, and of course Mr. Müller would want to make a small profit... so 80,000 was completely reasonable, as Snape had probably cost at least 40,000 Galleons.

He signed his name at the bottom of the parchment, _Harry James Potter._ And prayed that he was making the right decision.

"All right." The Ministry official looked the parchment over before sitting it on his desk, and passing Harry another parchment to sign, a parchment that basically said that he was the owner of Snape, and then said, "You understand that you have the right to change his name?"

"Yes, sir." Harry glanced down at Snape. Snape was practically kissing the carpet, so he couldn't see Snape's expression, but Snape's body didn't tense or anything. For all Harry knew, Snape was asleep, because he had no reaction whatsoever. "And I'd like to."

"To?" The Ministry official began digging through the mountain of papers on his desk. "You can change it to anything you like. Many owners buying a slave his age prefer to change the name, just to let who his owner is sink in. Some only change the last name, some are known to change the entire name all together." He chuckled. "I had a man in here last week, a wealthy landowner, who was buying his forty-seventh slave. All of his slaves, woman, man, child, adult - regardless of race - had the same name, a word from a dead Wizarding language that he says means 'slave'. He claims it helps keep them in their place."

Harry thought that that was horrible. He didn't know why the Ministry official thought it was funny. "Um, well, I just want to change his last name, I think? His name is 'Severus Müller', right?"

"'Severus _Tobias_ Müller', yes." The Ministry official nodded, pursing his lips as he scanned a parchment.

"Well, can it be 'Severus Tobias _Snape_'?" Harry held his breath. "Long story, you see, but his name used to be-"

"'Severus Tobias Snape', I see." The man showed Harry a parchment that Harry had seen before, a parchment listing more details about Snape than Harry ever had to know. "Just sign... here..." he passed Harry yet another piece of parchment, "and that should be it."

_Wow..._ Harry scrawled his name out, _Harry James Potter_, yet again. _This is too easy. It was frighteningly easy._

"Now, did you purchase a collar before coming, or would you like to buy one of our Ministry issued collars?" The man tucked the parchment back in a folder, after duplicating it once and putting it in a separate folder, for Harry to take home with him. "They are basic, without all of the bells and whistles that some speciality stores offer, but your name and address is engraved on it, and it supports tracking spells, as well as magic restriction spells."

"I'm not going to need that." Harry said abruptly. At the Ministry official's confused face, he glanced down at Snape's unmoving form, then sighed and looked back up. "The magic restriction spells. I... I want him to perform magic,. You know, he doesn't seem too functional like he is - I think if he was free to do magic, it would help." _Help him get back to normal,_ was what Harry meant. But he didn't want the Ministry official to know that that was what he meant. There wasn't a _rule_, per se, to treat Death Eater slaves like scum, but it seemed to be the norm.

The Ministry official's face was grave. "Mr. Müller bought him from the Ministry's Berlin branch." He said, seriously. "They found him at his past master's home, unleashing wild magic. I'm sure you already know he is a little touched in the head - I would be afraid to let him have free reign of his magic."

_What? _"You're serious?" Harry asked, in shock. Snape? Unleashing wild magic? Yeah, Hermione had recommended "The Road to Recovery" and after seeing Snape, Harry knew why... but "touch in the head"? Snape was more in control of his magic than anyone Harry knew.

The man nodded. "From what I hear, the Ministry sold him for a fair eighty Galleons. They could not get any more for him."

Harry glanced at Mr. Müller, he wasn't listening... he was just looking around the office. He didn't understand English, so he didn't know what he was saying. But Harry understood the Ministry official perfectly - 80,000 Galleons was nothing to Harry, but still, it angered him to be ripped off. The again, he was willing to give anything at this point.

"Well, I don't want to restrict his magic." Harry fingered his wand. "I can restrain him, I'm sure." Actually, he wasn't sure at all about that. Snape was a very powerful wizard and Harry, well, Harry was just Harry.

but the Ministry official seemed to have no doubt in Harry's words. "Oh, I'm sure you can."

Harry hesitated. Was the guy making fun of him? Was he being sarcastic? Or was he just complimenting Harry for killing Voldemort? He didn't know, but he was pretty sure it was the latter. "So, um, I kind of forgot about the collar. Could I buy one?" He dug into his pockets, where he had two pouches - one with the 80,000 Galleons for Mr. Müller, and the other with 100 Galleons, that he was going to use to live off of until next time he could make it to the bank.

While he was at it, he pulled out the pouch of 80,00 Galleons and handed it to Mr. Müller. Mr. Müller performed a spell to check the amount of money in it, and then settled back into his seat, not saying one word to Harry.

The Ministry official opened his desk and pulled out a collar. It was metal, and probably just made of aluminium or something - it definitely wasn't pure silver like the one Snape wore. It formed a small circle that looked like it would suffocate you if you wrapped it around your neck. There was one large hook on it, that you could tie a rope or hook a chain to.

"Two Galleons." The man said. "They are very sturdy, and should last a lifetime. Not that I'm guaranteeing it or anything, but we've rarely had someone who has bought one from us come back for another."

Good. Harry didn't think he'd be too keen on going to buy another. "Um, that's fine." He reached into his pouch and pulled out two Galleons, all the while converting the amount of Muggle money it added up to.... ten pounds. He did that all the time. Apparently Hermione and most Muggle-raised kids did, too. Force of habit.

He was handed the collar by the Ministry official, and took a few minutes to examine it. He couldn't see how it could possibly fit over Severus' head - it wouldn't even go over a baby's head. "How do I..."

"Put it around the slave's neck." The Ministry official directed. "Careful to avoid the collar already on his neck, though. Mr. Müller tells me it's a family heirloom. Pure silver. If you scratch or ruin it, I imagine he will give you hell to pay, Mr. Potter."

_Ouch_. Harry knelt down on a knee. "Hey, Snape." Harry said, softly. Snape hadn't looked up from his knees the entire time Harry had been there. "I'm going to have to put this on you, okay?"

Snape didn't move, blink, or give any other sign that he had heard Harry.

Harry tried to tug open the metal collar in his hands, but it wouldn't open. "How am I supposed to-"

"Tell it to 'open'." The Ministry official said, patiently.

Oh. It figures it would have been that easy. "Open." Harry directed.

The collar snapped open. Placing it around Snape's neck was going to be kind of disgusting - Snape's neck with dirty, oily, and flaky with a bunch of accumulated skin that hadn't had a chance to wash off. But Harry had faced plenty of gross things in Snape's Potions class.

He tried not to make a face as his skin came into contact with Snape's, trying not to make the situation worse than it was. But at least, he got a reaction from Snape, for once, who had not had any sort of reactions the entire time, which Harry found quite weird, since Snape was the one being _sold_.

Snape tensed as soon as Harry's hands got near to him, but he flinched violently when Harry's hands actually made contact with his skin. "Flinched violently", which when used in this context, meant pulled away so quickly, Snape fell down on his bottom, staring up at both Harry and Mr. Müller in alarm.

Mr. Müller began to snap at Snape in German. Harry didn't think Snape could speak German, judging by the parchment he had read on Snape at the Ministry, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to understand that the man was clearly annoyed with Snape. Snape obviously understood that much, and got back on his knees, facing Mr. Müller, this time with his forehead bowed so low, it touched the floor.

"Sorry." Harry said, awkwardly, glancing over at the Ministry official, who just nodded. "I guess I just... try again?"

"Um, Snape, please?" Harry said. "Um, if you want to put it on yourself, if that'd be easier-"

"You must do it." the Ministry official said. "The collar will now only respond to your commands, and your commands alone. There is no collar on this planet, or any other, for that matter ,that will ever respond to a slave's command."

Harry just nodded, ignoring the sick feeling that was growing in his stomach. Snape really wasn't being treated like a human in the slightest. He was on his hands and knees, with a collar and a... and a _leash_ like a dog. He hadn't spoken one word - Harry wondered if it was possible for Snape to have forgotten how to talk?

_Get him to respond. Do this slowly, and he maybe won't jerk away. _"Snape," Harry tried again. "Please look at me."

"He's your master, now." The Ministry official suddenly snapped, a quick transformation from his cool, calm, and collected self just moments ago. "Do as he says."

"It's okay." Harry said quietly, to the Ministry official. "He's fine." But he didn't even needed to say that, for the Ministry official's words seemed to work.

Snape turned his head so that it was now facing Harry, his forehead no longer on the floor, but aside from that, he did not move. His eyes were troubled, and Harry couldn't help but note how Snape wasn't _really_ looking at Harry. Well, he wasn't looking at his eyes, at least. He was looking at Harry, but not making eye contact or anything like Harry meant when he told him to look at him.

_Told him to,_ his stomach clenched. Ask_ him to. You're supposed to _ask_. Make _suggestion_ s- don't _tell_ him to do anything!_ Harry hadn't meant it as an order, but he quickly began to realise all the things normal people said to one another that could be taken as an order.

Harry moved closer to Snape, still on his knees. "I'm going to put this around your neck." Harry told Snape, still keeping his voice soft and gentle, like he talked to Teddy Lupin, who was just a year-old. He spoke to Snape like he spoke to a baby - who ever thought _that_ would ever happen?

"It doesn't... it's doesn't hurt?" He looked up at the Ministry official.

The Ministry official shook his head. "The collar will not, no."

_Which implies something else will. _Harry nodded. "Hear that, Snape? It's not going to hurt at all to put on. It's just going to shut around your neck when I tell it to close. It's going to be okay."

He had always hated it, in the past, when people told him that "Things were going to be okay". Yet, that was probably what Snape needed to hear, so he said it. He wasn't even really concious of what he was saying as he brought his hands closer to Snape, Snape watching every movement.

_Please don't jump, _Harry pleaded silently to Snape as he brought his hands slowly closer to Snape. As his hands once again made contact with Snape, Snape flinched violently again, but not quite so much. Harry was still able to place the collar around his neck, and to quietly command it to "close".

Mr. Müller took over then. He snapped at the silver collar around Snape's neck, which opened and slid off at Mr. Müller's none-too-gently tugging.

Harry cringed at the red ring left around Snape's neck, where the sliver collar had been. The skin was red, and chaffed. Swollen, and there were cuts around the red imprint of where the collar had been so tight, it had cut into Snape's skin.

_But on the plus side, the skin around his neck where the collar was is clean, mostly._ Harry didn't know why he realised things like that at the most odd times, but if it helped him get through the experience, he would realise just about anything, from pink elephants under the table to to flying mugs of butterbeer in the sky.

Harry didn't back away from Snape or stand up. He felt the urge to tell Snape "See, that wasn't so bad", but at the way Snape was shaking, Harry didn't even know if Snape would hear him.

He looked up at the Ministry official. "What's next?"

"Stand and hold your wand to the slave's head as I recite the spell needed." the Ministry official said. "Then you will be free to leave with the slave."

Mr. Müller spoke, collar and leash in hand. "Harry Potter." He said, gruffly, before nodding and walking out of the room.

"Um, bye." Harry called. "Uh, pleasure doing.. business." He felt like an idiot saying that, but what was he supposed to say? He'd never made any sort of business deal before, and didn't know what the proper etiquette was.

He stood up and pulled out his wand. "So I just hold it to his forehead?"

The Ministry official nodded, coming out from behind the desk. He reached out a foot and began prodding Snape with it. "Sit up, slave. Yes, Mr. Potter, when I tell you to, hold it to his head. Would you like the brand visible or invisible?"

_Invisible, please. _"Um, Snape, what do you want?"

"It's not a good thing to get into practise of asking a slave it's opinion." the Ministry official advised. "Besides, their kind are hardly capable of making decisions. They need someone to make the decision for them."

"Not true." Harry argued. He actually didn't know, but since when had that stopped him? It seemed like something Hermione would argue at, and besides, it irritated him. When something irritated Harry, he was in the practise of letting it show. "He hasn't always been a slave, you know. Just for three or four months." Actually, it had been something like seven months, but that would not aid his argument at all.

The Ministry official looked doubtful. "I encourage you to look into the slavery laws and spell incantations." He told Harry. "Your slave is incapable of making important decisions by himself. Now, if you will hold your wand to his forehead..."

Harry looked over at Snape, who was still on his knees, but sitting back on his heels. Snape's head was level, but eyes downcast, so that he was still staring the floor.

Harry extended his wand, but hesitated to put it against Snape's forehead. First of all, he didn't know where exactly he was supposed to put it - right in the middle of his forehead? To Snape's temple? Which temple?

Secondly, this was it. After he did this, there would be no backing out. Well, he could always sell Snape if it became too much, but he didn't think he could do that to Snape. It seemed... wrong. To be betrayal. He could never do that.

_After you do this, everything will change. Forever. _He told himself.

The Ministry official seemed to know what Harry was thinking, and eyed him carefully. "Are you sure you want to do this, Mr. Potter?"

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "Where do I put my wand?"

"Anywhere on his forehead."

He gripped his wand tight, ignoring the horrible sweaty feeling on his hands. He didn't want to jab Snape in the head with the wand, but he didn't want to put it too feebly against Snape's forehead. He needed to do it... firmly.

"Keep the wand to his head, regardless of what happens." The Ministry official said. "Slave, _do not move_. I understand that you have a record of collapsing, but _do not_. I do not care if something catches on fire, understand? Do not move - that is an order that you are bound to follow, or there will have serious consequences."

"Wait." Harry stopped, not fully understanding everything the Ministry official said. Snape had collapsed last time? Why? "It'll hurt him?"

"He will survive." The Ministry official said, dryly. "There's no other way, if that's what you're asking.

As the tip of Harry's wand touched Snape's forehead, Snape let out an agonizing cry, but did not move.

It took everything Harry had in him not to pull back the wand, but he didn't. He didn't want to risk any bad side effects. He suddenly just really wanted nothing more than all of this over with.

He didn't know how much time passed... he was only aware when the Ministry official said, "Enough, Mr. Potter! Enough - it's over."

Harry opened his eyes, eyes that he hadn't realised he was closing. He still had his wand to Snape's head. Snape was still sitting on his heels, only breathing very heavily, trembling, rocking back and forth very slightly... and were those tears running down his cheeks?

They were. Snape was _crying_. Harry had never seen Snape cry before in real life, only in Snape's memories. It was a horrible thing to witness.

"Are we done?" Harry was surprised that he was able to talk. He felt like his voice should be gone. He didn't now why- he was just tired, he guessed.

The Ministry official nodded. "Yes, you're done." He passed Harry a folder of papers. "If you have any questions, do not hesitate to let us know, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded. "I won't. Um," he looked down at Snape. "If you're ready to go..." he began awkwardly.

Snape didn't respond, nor did he move. He stopped the rocking and heavy breathing, but he was still trembling, and the tears were still streaming.

_That probably hurt bad,_ Harry realised. _Like Cruciatus bad. It probably really, really hurts to move._

"Um, my hotel isn't far." Harry continued, trying to make eye contact with Snape, but failing, because Snape wouldn't make eye contact with _him_. "I figured we're stay there, for the afternoon. We could start flying or Apparating home tonight or tomorrow morning, you know. Whatever is... easier."

Snape didn't give any hint of having heard him.

"He's touched in the head." The Ministry official repeated.

Harry opened his mouth to argue that, no, Snape was not "touched in the head", but shut it. Because he didn't know that. He would have argued against it, tooth and nail, twenty-four hours ago. But that had been before he saw Snape as he was now. Now, Harry wasn't so sure.

**-**

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Thirty-Six: _Home Sweet Home?_**

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**_A/N: _****_On a completely random note, happy birthday to Mr. Alan Rickman. I hear that sixty-four is such a good age to be, that Paul McCartney even wrote a hit song about it. Enjoy yourself!  
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	36. The Hotel

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's _Harry Potter_** **series. Thanks! **

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**Chapter Thirty-Six  
"The Hotel"**

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"Well, here we are. Home sweet home." Mr. Potter swung open the door of the hotel room.

Severus glanced up, but kept his head bowed. The room was very nice. It was carpeted, and had a big bed in the centre, with large windows on the wall. It smelled clean. Severus had stayed in very few hotel rooms in his life, but this seemed like a nice one.

Mr. Po- Master walked over and sat on the bed, crossing his legs from under him. Severus merely sat back on his heels and waited. Waited for an order, for any sort of instruction. Or waited for pain, whichever came first.

_Why did Mr. Potter buy you? _He wondered. _The slavery was supposed to be punishment for all the bad things I have done. Certainly... certainly it is not necessary for more punishment? But Mr. P- Master had always taken things to the extreme - he had never done anything half-heartedly. Except that of which he did, but those things were few and far in between._

He bit his lip in nervousness. The worst part about being a slave were the threats. The anticipation. Those were worse than the actual punishments. Not knowing what your fate was, knowing your owner knew, was torture on it's own. Severus could endure pain - Merlin knew, he had been through enough of it in his life. But anticipating the pain was quite another thing. It did not help that many threats could be idle and not real threats - one might think that that would be a good thing, there being no follow-through, but it wasn't. That meant that there was no way to tell a real threat from an idle one, and that made things worse.

Master sighed. "You don't have to sit there, you know. You can sit on the bed."

Severus took in a sharp breath, that he hadn't meant to take in. The _bed_? Master wanted him to sit on the _bed_? What was that about? Severus was not allowed to be in or on beds without permission, and whenever he was told to, it was because he was being used. Strictly for being used.

"Or the floor. The floor is fine. Just sit on the floor." Severus watched Master run his hands through his own hair. "So... um, you've been awful quiet since... well, since we've run into each other again."

Had he? Severus hadn't noticed. He did not talk at all any more, as a rule. The Monster had forbade him to talk, and there was little point in it, aside.

"That's okay, you don't have to talk much." Master sighed again. "But you understand everything that is going on, right? That I bought you from Mr. Müller, and... oh, never mind."

Yes, Severus did understand that. He even understood why he had been bought. He did not like it, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"So..." Master ran his fingers through his hair again. "It's eleven o'clock. Do you want to... I don't know. Maybe we should just head back to England. There's nothing to do here, in Germany. Not that there's anything to do in England... but I've got to go pick up Teddy from Mrs. Weasley... So, I guess I have to explain what happened."

What happened? Severus was just bought by Mr. Potter, that was what happened. He didn't quite understand why it needed explaining, but he did not express that to Master. He just kept staring down at the carpet, head bowed, like a good slave.

Master sighed. "There was a whole lot of confusion and misunderstandings, when it came to the whole Death Eater/slave policy. Really, I think it was a dumb idea to have in the first place, because no one is going to want to have a slave that they can't trust, that they know has murdered their friends and family.... but Kingsley was outvoted at the Ministry, and well... I'm not really sure how you got involved in all of that - we all know you're innocent, and there had been all this paperwork for that and everything, but it disappeared now. It's for when you willingly got the Mark, but I just kind of assumed they'd let that slide, you know? "

_It disappeared. _Severus didn't know what happened to it, but he had a feeling of who was behind it. Not that he cared, really. He did not care about much, any longer.

"And then we just had a hell of a time _getting_ to you." Master shook his head. "You were at Hendersons', and then we were outbid because they were so sure they had enough money, and then Weston refused to sell you, and then when he did, he sold you to König, and König didn't respond to any of my letters - they were in English. Does he speak English? - and then you went to Mr. Müller... are most slaves sold around like that?"

_'No, sir,' _Severus wanted to say. '_No, most aren't. Only the ones no one wants are sold continuously.'_

"Well, anyway..." Master stood up. "Um, I'm going to Owl my friends, and let them know that I've got you." He winced. "You know what I mean. That came out wrong. Um... are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired? Do you need anything?"

Was he hungry? He did not feel hungry any longer, very often. He felt a little nauseas when it had been a long time since he ate, but hungry? No. Was he thirsty? He hadn't had anything to drink since that morning and yet somehow, he didn't think his stomach could handle much water. Was he tired? He was always tired. And did he need anything else?

What sort of question was that? He should be asking Master those questions, serving him, not the other way around!

Master sighed. "Okay, I guess not. Um... right." He went over behind the counter of the kitchenette which was off to the side of the room, and began scribbling on parchment. "Are you feeling okay? I mean, I know this is a big deal, you getting new... well, renowned... but you're not looking very... oh, shit. Never mind."

Severus listened to the sound of the quill scratching against the parchment. It was a nice sound. One of his favourite sounds . he had not heard it in a long time. Not at the entire time he had been at his past master's. Or at The Monster's.

"I'm going to have to run this down to the lobby, to send to Ron and Hermione." Master waved a piece of parchment around. "Why don't you get in the shower while I'm gone?"

That was an order. 'Why don't you' was not a suggestion, but an order in a disguised way. It was a slave's duty to do whatever the owner wanted, whether it was as obvious as 'do this' or a hint.

"If you want me to." Severus bowed his head even more. That was always a safe response – you never got slapped for bowing your head.

"I think that'd be a good idea."

* * *

_Ron, Hermione – how is Teddy? Have you found a house, yet? I bought Snape, and am headed home tonight. I'll pick up Teddy at about midnight._

_-Harry_

Harry tried not to think too deeply about the way Snape was acting, as he jogged back up the stairs, after asking the hotel to post his letter, to put the charges on his bill. After all, Snape had spent the past couple months chained up like a dog.

Harry had known that human slavery was legal in the Wizarding world for less than a year, but upon finding that out, hadn't gone through a shock like Hermione had. He had simply accepted it, and moved on. It all seemed pretty okay- not something he necessarily supported, but if owning slaves was what people wanted to do, then...

But that had been before he saw what had happened to Snape. Harry didn't care if you were a human, wizard, house-elf... to be chained up like Snape was was wrong. And the air was still rather chilly outside, in the evenings. Had Snape had a warming charm put on him? If not, what couldn't Mr. Müller have given him a blanket or some clothes? He knew the Müller family was poor, but for Merlin's sake, they couldn't have been _that_ poor not to afford a single blanket or trousers or... or something!

And why was Snape so dirty and smelly? Yes, he slept out in the barn, Harry understood that much. But couldn't they allow him to take a shower every so often? Just like... once a month, even? What about when it rained - couldn't Snape just go out in the rain to wash off, every now and then? It was not like he was poisonous - keeping him in one of their children's bedrooms that went off to school should have been fine, anyway. Well, when Snape opened his mouth, he could be poisonous, but he hadn't even opened his mouth, at this point. He probably had barely spoken to the Müller's at all, only when spoken to, or something. Probably not even that, because Harry spoken to him many times in the hour, and had only gotten about fifteen words out of him.

And the way the Ministry official had treated Snape at the office... he had kind of kicked Snape with his foot. Not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough to be rude and bothersome. He had just ordered Snape around and spoke of him like... Harry would say an animal, but that was not entirely true - animals were kept in high regard in the Wizarding world, most of them. Hippogriffs, lions, owls, snakes, cats, badgers... even toads, while out of style, had some respect. You bowed to a Hippogriff upon greeting it, even.

No, he hadn't treated Snape like an animal. He had treated him like bowl of week-old porridge that you just wanted to throw away, that you didn't really want, that you just wanted _off _your table and out and out of sight. Yeah, Snape smelled so bad he made your eyes water, but...

Halfway up to his room, Harry couldn't take it any more. He burst into the nearest loo (not caring that it for the girl's loo - there was no one in there, anyhow), into the first toilet stall, and dispelling the contents of his stomach. And then he just collapsed on the floor, grasping on to the bowl for dear life in case he started to throw up again... he sat there, kicking himself for taking his sweet as you please time for finding Snape. For being such a selfish, childish pig.

* * *

_Severus gasped for breath as he was pulled out of the water violently by his hair. In the back of his mind, he heard a voice reminding him to not thrash around in the water, that it was better to stay still, but he wasn't coherent enough to listen to it. He wasn't in the right mindset to do anything right now, except get out of the tank of water._

_He was shook my his hair and yelled at again, in a language he didn't understand. The warm breath on his face was welcome, warming up his face frozen by the icy water, even though the breath smelled of onions, and really strong Wizarding whiskey._

_"P-P-Please, sir." Severus had stammered, hot tears streaming down his face. "I don't know what I-"_

_He was interrupted by the man further yelling, and shaking him by his head, before snapping Severus' head down and holding him in the water once again._

_In the water, you couldn't breathe. There was no oxygen underneath the water. Not long under there without air, and you would black out. Three minutes, and you would lose all hope of ever recovering full use of your brain, and your heart. And in just a few more minutes, you would die._

_Severus was close to the full ten minutes it took to die, he was certain. He had been under there too long._

_He brought his arm up, struggling to reach for something - anything - to grab onto, to pull himself up. But that only began to fell a light prickly pain, and he couldn't do anything with it. He was stuck, underwater, struggling for air._

_His lungs, which were not filled with one bit of air, as he hadn't had a chance to take a large breath before going under, felt like they were going to burst. He felt as if he were plunged into the iciest ocean on the planet, in it's coldest season. He could almost feel bits of ice floating around him._

_You could just die like this, the panic started to edge off his he realised that amongst his incoherent thoughts that he would never be able to recollect later. Just underwater, right now. this would be it. No more pain, or suffering. Just-_

_The problem was was that he couldn't die. He wasn't allowed to die. Slaves weren't allowed to die unless they were told to. Allowances were made for wizards over the age of two hundred and thirty, but even then, you had to fear what would happen to you on the other side. Slaves were not told if they were punished on the other side, and if so, how severely. What if Severus died right now? Would he spend eternity underneath the water, feeling as if his lungs would explode? If so, he'd rather die another way, or simply serve his masters until they killed him themselves._

_He coughed and choked for breath as he was yet again yanked up by his hair. He was standing on his feet in the tank, but felt as if he was going to collapse. He certainly didn't feel like he even owned a pair of feet any longer - those had been burnt so badly in games of torture, abuse, and obedience that the nerves were practically gone. Coupled with the fact that they had been standing in the ice cold water for how long? Severus lost track of time so quickly at The Monster's. It could have been anywhere from one minute to ten years. He was hoping for ten years, because if it had been a mere minute, then he would not be able to withstand much more. He would develop hypothermia, and..._

_"I'm sorry!" He choked. "I apologize, sir! I did not mean for-"_

_But underwater he went again, his lungs burning as he swallowed a bit of water. But it would end, eventually. Soon, his torturer would get tired of this activity, and chain him back up, where he would be free to recover from the water-filled event... until the next torturer got in the mood to throw him in a tank again. He did not know why they found it so amusing, but if his behaviour amused him, he had to keep doing it, for two reasons. Because if they wanted him to amuse them, he had to do just that, and because it was better this than getting his eyes gauged out with spoons._

* * *

Harry wiped his mouth off as he tried to leave the girl's bathroom as inconspicuously as he could. He had thrown up another time before deeming his stomach absolutely empty, and then he had washed his mouth out very good for extra measure. Not like Snape would care what Harry's breath smelled like.

He glanced around the bedroom, satisfied that Snape was not in there. That obviously meant he was behind the shut bathroom door. He had to admit, for a little bit, he was half-convinced he'd walk in and find Snape kneeling on the floor, waiting for Harry, shaking because he didn't know how to shower. Which would be ridiculous, of course. Snape had always had super greasy hair, but he'd never smelled too bad, unless he had been brewing a particularly bad Potion that day. So of course Snape would know how to shower. But something had happened to Snape to make him almost unable to talk, it seemed. And barely able to walk, because he got on his knees every chance he got. Harry wouldn't put it past him to be unable to shower.

_You've got to get him some clothes, _Harry realised as he eyed the thing Snape had been wearing - the dirty, filthy thing - lying over the back of a chair. Which of course meant that Snape had stripped in the bedroom and not in the adjoining bathroom, but hey, whatever floated his boat. It wasn't like Harry had been around to see - maybe he had been hoping that if he left it out, Harry would clean it for him. Yeah, that was probably it. And Harry could clean it for him with no problem.

He was about to examine the nasty looking frock when he noticed something - or he noticed there not being something - there was no water running in the bathroom.. There was no steady stream of water bursting from the shower head onto the shower floor. The water wasn't on.

_There's no way he can take a shower that fast, and do it well enough, _Harry thought. _Maybe you should go check on him... you know, just in case._

Harry timidly walked over to the bathroom door. It would be kind of rude to knock on it. Snape would probably think he was rushing him, which Harry was most definitely not. The longer Snape was occupied, the longer Harry would have to think about what came next.

He knocked on the door. "Snape?" He called through the door. "How're you doing in there?"

There was no answer, but Harry didn't expect one. Snape, who had once would have never missed a chance to Snape or sneer or say something snide to Harry, was now practically mute.

"Snape?" He tried again. "You okay?"

No answer. Big surprise.

Harry put his hand on the doorknob. "You even in there, mate? Look, why don't you unlock the door? N-Not that that's an order or anything..." he still had to explain the rules - that there weren't any - to Snape. "But, yeah. Please unlock the door?"

There was no click of the door unlocking. Harry was about to pull his wand out his his back pocket and use an _Alohamora_ to unlock the door, to realise that, by turning the doorknob, that it was already unlocked.

_Dumbass._

He opened the door slowly and peered inside. "Snape?"

Snape turned around, jumping slightly, at the sound of Harry's voice. He was just as filthy as ever, and perfectly dry. He had been standing, stock still, facing the bathtub, just staring at it, until Harry spoke.

Snape got down on his knees in a swift movement and bowed his head to the floor. No words left his lips, but it wasn't really needed to get his point across. Harry hadn't read a lot about manners and customs regarding slaves, but he knew the laws. And the laws said that slaves always had to bow to their masters, every time the masters or the slave came into the room. How the bow was performed was up the the masters - it could be as simple as an incline of the head, or kneeling on the floor as Snape was doing now - but it had to be done.

"Um, you okay?" Harry asked. "I was a bit nervous when I didn't hear the water running and I..." his eyes trailed over the thousands of scars that littered Snape's back, which was on full display to Harry. There were literally thousands - some super tiny, some raised, long, and had evidentially been caused by a deep cut of some kind. Some were white, some were pink, and there were a couple that were even _black_. But they were all equally as horrible.

"I got a bit concerned." Harry admitted, trying to divert his eyes of Snape's body. "Um, you can sit up, now." Harry said. "You don't have to... you know, bow like that the entire time."

Snape immediately lifted his head from the floor and sat upright, remaining on his knees. He simply nodded, his eyes to the floor, still.

_What's his problem? _"Do you not remember how to start the shower?" Harry asked, kindly, the horrible feeling coming back in his stomach. What had all those men and women that owned Snape _done_ to him to make him like that? While Harry had been worrying about NEWTs and his sex life.

Snape's eyes were filled with hesitation, but there was no answer. Not even a nod "yes" or a shaking of the head "no".

"Here," Harry said, walking around Snape to the bathtub, and turn on the the shower head. The hot water began to instantaneously spray out, and Harry knew from his shower the night before that the hot water would never run out.

Snape turned and watched Harry turn on the shower, but made no reaction as if he'd seen it. Except for the slight widening of eyes and slight trembling, that was.

Harry wished Snape would talk. It would be less confusing. And at least get off the bloody floor. To have Snape kneeling in a room with Harry in it was just... it was just _unnatural_. He could never imagine Snape kneeling in front of anyone, except for maybe Voldemort. And in the image in his mind, Snape would be wearing a dark Death Eater cloak, not be naked.

"Do you know how to shower?" Harry asked Snape, trying to keep the pity out of his voice. He couldn't help but feel so sorry for Snape at this point that Harry's chest hurt. It was probably all psychological, but psychological or not, it still hurt.

Snape hesitated again before nodding, his eyes back down to the floor. He didn't respond verbally, but Harry had a feeling it was a simple "yes" over "yes, you simpleton. What wizard in any modern country has never had a shower before? 10,000 lines. And detention. and 4958394930 points from Gryffindor".

_Well, what's the problem? You don't like to shower? Well, you can take a bath. I'm not stopping you. _"Would you prefer a bath, then? Or maybe a cleansing spell or two would do for now." He pulled out his wand, but stopped at the sheer panic on Snape's face.

Snape's eyes were wide with fear, and his bottom lip sucked in his mouth. He was shaking, almost violently so, and he was taking very heavy, deep breaths, much too quickly.

_He scared of my wand? _Yeah, Harry's wand had done some serious damage in the past, but never to Snape. Just the same, Harry lowered it and stuck it in his back pocket. "Okay, no wand." He held up his hands to show Snape. "See - I promise, no magic at all."

Snape visibly relaxed, but not fully, as his eyes were still wide, the trembling still going on, and his breathing still hitched.

Harry knew what he had to do. He just didn't like it. He had never helped anyone do anything like that before. He had never even bathed a dog, or any other sort of animal before. He had only encountered himself in a bath or shower before. Well, except for that one time he walked in on Dean coming out of the shower, but that hadn't been Harry's fault - Dean had had the water off, and there had been no sign that anyone was in that particular shower stall at all.

"Here." He switched the water so that it came out the normal tap instead of the shower, filling up the bathtub instead of sliding down the drain. "Let's get you in the bath. It's... easier." Well, it wasn't _easier_, but you could sit down, and not have to worry about slipping on the floor, which was nice.

He grabbed Snape's arm, gently. Snape didn't have a super hairy arm, like some guys did, but it wasn't completely hairless. It was painfully thin, though - Harry could feel the bones and veins in it just by touching it, and he could wrap his hands all the way around it. And Harry's hands were _small_.

The arm, like the rest of Snape's body, was covered in dirt, grime, grease, and God-knew-what-else. It was a absolutely disgusting, but that was the point - to clean him off of almost probably a year's worth of disgusting stuff.

"Come on, let's stand up." He urged Snape, gently lifting on his arms so Snape could stand up, but have someone to lean on. He imagined someone Snape's age would have trouble standing up without grabbing a hold of someone - Snape was thirty-nine now, said so the papers he got on him. As Snape's owner, he had been given tons of papers, filled with everything he could possibly know about Snape, from his exact second of birth, to what dates he lost each tooth, to all the spells Snape had every performed, and what dates and times they were performed at. It was a bucket load of information, information Harry didn't even want to know how the Ministry got. It was information that would take days to sort through, at best, and information that Harry had no intentions of ever sorting through. A., because he didn't really care about when Snape lost his virginity, and B., because things like that were Snape's own business. Harry owned him because he had to own him, not because he wanted to.

Snape stood up, a little wobbly, but he didn't lean on Harry for support at all. Harry reckoned the only reason he was wobbly was because of how shaky he was.

"Now just step in the tub, and sit down in it." Harry instructed.

Snape froze for a minute, like what Muggles called "a deer in headlights", but he did as he was told.

Harry couldn't help but marvel at the fluid movements the man had. even though Snape was shaking like a leaf, for what reason Harry didn't know, he still managed to get in the water and sit down without so much of making the slightest bit of a splash. The water barely rippled.

Harry reached over and grabbed a bar of soap from the shelf above the toilet and unwrapped it from its wrapper. He sat it on the edge of the tub, along with a hotel issued wash cloth. "See if you can clean yourself up." Harry said. "I'll be back in a minute. I've got to-" the look on Snape's face stopped him though. The look of fear came back. A paralysed look of fear.

_He's not an infant,_ Harry said to himself. _Why can't he do this himself?_

_He's had a hard time, Harry. Just help him out._

_He's doing it just to test you._

_Or he genuinely needs help. Quit being so selfish and _help_ him. That's why you bought him, right? Or was there another reason?_

_No, no other reasons._

_Then help him!_

Harry sighed, resigned to the task. He grabbed the stool he had conjured last night from in front of the sink and sat down facing the bathtub, facing Snape.

"Turn around." Harry instructed, turning off the water, which now about filled half of the tub.

Dipping the wash cloth into the water, which was already starting to look disgustingly muddy and dirty, from Snape just sitting there, Harry began to scrub Snape's back. Snape flinched away at Harry's touch, and never stopped shaking, not even for a moment.

He carefully tried to avoid the major scars, and the raised ones, to avoid hurting Snape, but never knew if he hurt him or not. Snape flinched every few moments at Harry's touch, not at him touching the scars, Harry didn't think. And even though Snape had nodded when Harry told him to tell him if he hurt Snape, Snape didn't tell Harry anything. Probably because Snape had stopped talking for the most part.

_Snape_. Harry had to stop calling him that. Snape was like a scared child, or animal (as much as Harry hated to compare him to the latter - how was Harry supposed to scrub the skin around the collar Harry himself had put on Snape? It wasn't so tight that Snape could barely breathe, like Mr. Müller's had been, but it was still pretty snug). Harry didn't know if he was scared of harry, or just everything in general, but calling him "Snape" wouldn't help. "Severus" was much friendlier - were Harry in Snape's position (God forbid), he would have preferred Snape to call him "Harry" over "Potter".

"Severus?" Harry tried out the name as he reached down towards Snape's lower back.

Snape turned his head to look at Harry, but did not respond. His eyes were still downcast slightly, but Harry knew that Snape could see him.

"I was just thinking that we might want to let the water out." Harry said, looking down at the now dark brown water. The flakes of skin and little pieces of hair floating on the top were disgusting. "It's doing us no good now."

Snape lowered his eyes all the way now, but did not say anything or respond in any other way.

Harry sighed. Had Snape always been this... indecisive, and had Harry just missed it?

"Why don't you stand up and get out for a minute?" Harry suggested, reaching for Snape's hand and pulling him to his feet. Well, he would have pulled Snape to his feet if Snape had leant him any weight. Or maybe he had and Snape was just too light to notice. "I'll ban- let out the water and b- rinse it out, before we start again."

Snape just wrapped his arms around his still filthy, and now wet body, and nodded, eyes to the floor.

Harry sighed again and, grimacing, plunged his hand into the nasty water and pulled out the plug. It was going to be one long bath time.

* * *

Severus sat stock still as Master gently, but firmly, ran the rag up and down Severus' arm, which Master out extended with one hand. Severus just sat limp and let Master do whatever Master wanted to do.

Master - Master Weston, that was (how that felt odd to say - Master Weston), had had Severus join him in the shower, once. He had begun to wash Severus, and have Severus wash him - all over. It had been uncomfortable, to say the least. When Master had used Severus anywhere else, it had been different. To be both standing up in a shower, each groping and probing different places, had been distinctly uncomfortable. Back when Severus had been a young adult, still in school, he had heard other boys discussing doing the same thing with both girls and boys, and that it was-

He knew people did things like that, but he could not imagine it being pleasurable. Distinctly awkward, perhaps, but it must be pleasurable, or they would not do it. Severus, he understood that sex itself was pleasurable for many people, though he rarely experienced the same pleasure. But other things, the quite unnecessary things...

He hadn't taken his new master for the type of man to indulge in the same pleasures, but of course, his new master was far younger than any of Severus' owners had been (discounting Master Nathan, and various torturers of all ages at The Monster's). His sexual drive would be much stronger, and therefore, much more demanding. If he wanted to fondle Severus with his hand, which was most certainly what the bath would lead to, eventually, then it was his right to do so. Severus would only 'lie back and think of England' - it was a phrase many used to refer to a woman during sex, but it applied nicely to Severus' consistent situations, as well.

The water he was in was warm. It was not too hot, nor was it too cold. It was not deep at all, but it did not matter - water was water. It was all bad. He did not mind it if it was in a bowl, glass, or pouring down his throat at a rate he could control, but it in itself was an evil to be avoided at all costs.

"Ugh, what'd you get into?" Master asked, placing Severus' arm in Severus' lap. Master did not simply let go of Severus' arm, but placed it down gently. Severus didn't know why he did that - Severus had been holding out his arm rather limply, assuming that Master wanted that, but...

_Master wanted to place your hand in your lap,_ he told himself. That was the easy answer. But _why_? Did he want Severus to act like an invalid or something? Was that what Master was wanting? It was so hard to have a master that failed to make his intentions clear!

"I don't think we going to be able to get this off in one session. Lean back against the tub, like this." Master placed his hands, each one on one of Severus' shoulders, and gently pulled him back so that Severus was lying against the tub.

Severus' legs had been crossed, but he took the moment to pull his knees up against his chest the best he could in that position. That was always the most comfortable position - he didn't know why. He just felt-

"Legs down, Severus." Master chided gently, tapping one of his hands on Severus' knee. "I need to get to your chest."

Severus' knees jerked at the touch, but did as he was told, however reluctant. He hated it that Master used his name so much - he hadn't been "Severus" since Master and Mistress'. He had been "Snape" or "slave" before that, and Merlin only had a clue what he had been in German. Severus had stopped trying to understand after only a short while at The Monster's. Or perhaps it had been a long while.

His whole body tensed as Master began to scrub Severus' chest with the rag. Master scrubbed very gently, but it did not stop the horrible feeling from crossing Severus' body. The feeling came across him when anyone touched him - from any of his past owners, to Baldur, to getting bumped into on the street. He disliked being touched more than anything in the world at this moment, and it did not help him that Master was touching him all over. Or would be, eventually.

_He likely knows this. He's trying to torture you._ The thought made plenty of sense, except then why wasn't Master scrubbing harder? Severus himself had scrubbed harder - the first several times he had been allowed a shower or bath after being used, whether at Master Mering's or Master and Mistress', he had scrubbed himself so hard and so much that the water had turned pink with blood. But he quickly got over it - he was perpetually dirty now, and that was all right. He was just a slave.

His eyes watered slightly as Master accidentally pulled out a hair near his nipple, a sensitive place to have a hair pulled out of, but especially when by your master. It simply always hurt worse when one's master injured them. Severus was not sure why, but he assumed it had something to do with the power masters and mistresses had over him - it was like being able to manipulate an erection out of him by touching his forehead and rubbing his lower regions at the same time.

"All right, we need to let out the water again." Master sighed.

Severus looked down at his lap, at he water that was once clear. It was now a murky brown. There was many things floating in it, but he did not know what they were, or where they had come from.

He stood up, water dripping from his body. Master grabbed his arm, and Severus pulled back so far that he almost knocked Master into the tub.

_You idiot,_ he ridiculed himself. _he's your master. He owns you. He's got every right to touch you whenever, however, and why-ever he wants. You've no right to pull back._

He bowed his head. "I apologize, sir." He said. "Please punish me, sir, in however you see fit."

"Wha- punish you? What for? What'd you do?" Master's face was incredulous when Severus dared peek at it. "Come on, let's get out of the tub. We'll wash your hair, and call it quits for tonight. We can finish up when we get home."

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: _Home Sweet Home?_**

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**Note to Self: **_Take care to not lose an entire chapter again. Re-writing and re-editing is hardly as fun as it was the first time._

**A/N:**_ Thanks for everything, everyone!_


	37. Home Sweet Home?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's **_**Harry Potter**_ **series. Thank you.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven  
"Home Sweet Home"**

* * *

Severus tried not to cross his arms as he slowly followed his master in the house. To cross his arms would be to show defiance – he was most certainly not defiant of his new master. He was merely cold.

Severus was hoping that he was proving to be a good slave to master. He had had the idea occur to him, 'what if master decides that I do not need to be punished for all the bad things in my past life?' If Severus kept being the best slave he could possibly be, maybe his master would come to realise it, and spare him the extent of what he had planned.

So far, it had not gotten off to a very good start. He had vomited the macaroni and cheese Master had ordered him at the hotel. He had not even eaten very much at all – only four mouthfuls. Master had not been _angry_, as far as Severus could tell. He had definitely felt frustration though, which often times led to anger.

That was why Severus tried extra hard on the broomstick. Master's broomstick went terribly fast – faster than Severus had ever been on a broomstick. He had learned to fly on the Hogwarts' Shooting Stars and hadn't gotten his own broom until he was seventeen, and found one thrown out. It had been an old Tinderblast, and had worked quite well, for such an old broom. He had used it to get from one destination to another, not to perform trick and to go fast like-

He had been thinking about his past like again. He kept doing that! It was as if had completely lost his mind – did he not know that thinking about past lives was dangerous? He couldn't remember why – one of his masters might have forbidden it. Nevertheless, it was wrong to think about.

He had flown on the back of Master's broom. He had held on as tightly as he could to the broomstick, and Master did not even throw him off like he had worried about.

He hadn't even reacted when Master pulled out his wand and did a spell on him, before they had gotten on the broomstick, back at the hotel. He didn't think he had, anyhow – he had fallen asleep almost as soon as he saw the wand, so it must have been a sleeping spell. The details were a bit fuzzy, to be honest. He had also apparently had a warming spell put on him, because even flying fast in the air, he didn't feel cold at all. Severus noticed things like that.

They had landed on a dirt road, that looked quite isolated. Master had pointed to a tall oak tree, and had instructed Severus to stay there until he came back. 'Don't move until I come back' had been Master's exact words, and since Severus could not figure out how literally the man meant it (Master had only been his master for less than a day – he still struggled not to think of him by the name those better than him called master), he had stood there, not moving, until his master came back. The only movement he had made was his stomach as he breathed, or his eyes as he blinked, but he had done his best to do neither as long as could.

When Master returned, he had had a baby in his arms. The baby had been wide awake, and babbling. He had had light blonde hair, and a flat nose. It did not look much like master, but Severus could only assume that it was his child. Master didn't say, and being a good slave, Severus didn't ask.

The home that they flew to was only twenty minutes by broomstick, give our take. Of course, that meant it was twenty minutes on Master's extremely fast broom. The bubbly baby seemed to enjoy the ride – most definitely Master's child.

The house was a simple two-storey. It looked to be a bit small. The wood was not painted, and the flowers in the pots on the porch could only be artificial or magically-manipulated, because whatever time of year it was, it was too cold to be growing flowers. Severus had magically sprouted flowers, as well as planted seeds the Muggle way, at Master Mering's. He had learned that flowers take a long time to grow the Muggle way, and did not tolerate bad conditions, like too much rain. Too cold was a bad condition. At least there was no snow.

He silently followed Master into the house, which was already lit. he was careful to keep his head bowed as he walked behind master, but his eyes raised so that he could see everything.

The fire crackled as Master sat the blonde boy down on the sofa, who looked around in wonderment.

Master sighed – from a slave's point-of-view, that was never a good thing. "I've gotta admit, Sna-Severus, I have no clue what I'm doing. I'm just moving in tonight, too."

_What sort of statement is that? How does he expect me to respond to that? _Severus chewed his lip as he kept his head bowed. It was better not to say anything. Sometimes, Master Mering had said various things like than, and Severus had learned the hard way not to respond... though Master Weston had liked responses. He liked Severus to talk to him – he had always chuckled, and petted Severus' head.

Master sighed again. "So, it looks like the kitchen is to the left..." he began moving around the house. The baby, who for some reason seemed to have bright red hair in the lights, stood to his feet and began toddling after Master – before falling. Then he just crawled at a speed that Severus envied. He could never crawl that fast – it would have come in useful at his past master's.

Severus was standing for the first time in a long time. He could not remember the last time he stood. Thinking about it, it brought to mind all of the times that The Monster had punished him for standing, and had burnt the bottom of his feet to keep him from standing. Severus had learnt his lesson quite quickly.

He shifted on his feet, uncomfortably. He could still feel the burns there. He could feel the fiery tools The Monster and The People held to his feet as he screamed, he begged (talking got him more punishment, so he did not beg for long before he learned). They never stopped until he started bleeding really badly – or until they got to bone. And they never healed it when they were done, either – until they wanted another go around. That was why, when he stood now, it hurt so badly.

Oh, how he wanted to sit to ease the pain! But he could not – not until Master gave him permission to.

Finally, Master re-entered by going down the stairs. The baby – whoever it was – was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Master had just gotten a separation from his wife? That would explain the new house, and the child's existence. It also further explained the slave – Master had to put that sex drive somewhere. The thought made Severus inwardly cringe. A master who liked both sex and punishing was never a good thing.

"I put Teddy to bed." Master came down the last step. "I feel so old. Half an hour with the kid, and I feel like I'm going to drop dead. Luckily, he takes after his dad and loves to sleep once you actually get him there. So-" Master stopped. "What's the matter? Why are you shaking?"

Severus hadn't noticed he was, nor had he fully realised, as he was doing it, why he had backed up as Master got closer. The masters who used him liked to touch him, whereas his past master rarely touched him at all. This master was getting rather close to him...

_'You like this,'_ he heard Master Weston's voice in his head. _'Don't you like it? Tell me how much.'_

The reply in his head only verified that fact. If he had given that answer then-

"I bet you're tired." Master interrupted his thoughts, as he was entitled to do. "How about you try eating or drinking something before bed?"

If he said no, he would likely displease Master. But if he vomited up, he would also displease master. Either way, he could not win.

"Yes sir," he answered. His throat was so dry, he could barely hear himself.

Master nodded,. "Cool. Come on – let's go into the kitchen and... oh, shit. You know what? We probably don't have any groceries. Well, maybe we do – we'll see."

He followed Master into the kitchen, where he was directed to "sit down".

_Finally, _he thought._ Now the burns will stop eating. Thank you._

"Thank you, Master." He said as he sank to his news. Someday he might muster the courage to sit crossed-legged, but for now he knelt – for you could rarely go wrong as long as you knelt properly.

He was tired, oh, so tired. And hungry, as well as thirsty. He knew he should be feeling more gratitude towards his master, as well as more fright towards his future, but it was hard when you were as tired as he was. He was sure, anyhow, that in the morning, he would be making up for it.

_Perhaps even before,_ he realised as a shiver ran through his body. _Perhaps he intended to punish you tonight._

_Then why is he feeding you? _A logical voice presented itself. _If he beats you – or even uses you tonight – you will vomit._

_Then he will have me eat it, and start doing it again. It will be an endless cycle. _He began to feel sick to his stomach, and it had little to do with the lack of food in his body.

* * *

Harry had discovered two things in the past hour or so; One, he was way too bossy (do this, do that, come here, sit down), and two, eventually you got to a point of being _so_ sleep deprived that eventually, you had boundless energy.

He pursed his lips as he looked through the cupboard, which someone seemed to have stocked with food. He needed to feed Snape something that he could digest properly, because the macaroni and cheese hadn't gone over so well.

And he'd have to see about putting a 'comfortable temperature' spell on Snape – he was getting a bruise where Snape' unleashing of accidental magic had struck him earlier. Harry had risen his wand, intending to put a warming spell on Snape, but a blast of light blue magic knocked him to the ground before he could. Apparently, Snape really was afraid of magic, but why? On the plus side, though, Harry didn't think that Snape knew what he had done, because Snape had made no mention of it. Not that he made much of a mention about anything... but Harry was just so grateful that Snape had lost consciousness briefly from the strength of the magic unleashed, so Harry had time to recover before Snape noticed.

Finally, Harry settled on a can of pumpkin, and when he knew Snape wasn't looking, wandlessly opened it up. Obviously, Hermione had done the shopping, because he had never seen cans of anything in any kitchens of magical households. There was probably a can opener somewhere, but he couldn't be arsed to look for it.

"Do you like pumpkin?" He asked, keeping his eyes on what he was doing. When he had told Snape to sit, Snape had taken his seat by kneeling on the floor. Every time Snape did something like that, Harry wondered what cruel way Mering had gotten Snape to learn such behaviours.

Snape, in what seemed to be his new-usual fashion, did not reply. It seemed a little odd to Harry, that a slave wouldn't answer his master's question, no matter how trivial. Hermione, Ron and himself had found a book about slave etiquette – a big old book, bigger than those etiquette books Lavender like to read, by some witch named Emma Shovel. They hadn't read it, because that hadn't been their concern at the time. Maybe he should have checked it out... but it was too late now. _The Road to Recovery _was a book he figured he'd spent too much time studying to read anything else. And the N.E.W.T.S were in a month and half.

_I'm screwed, _he realised as he dumped the puréed orange stuff in a bowl, and stuck a spoon in there. He hadn't heated it or added any spices. Maybe the sudden shock of having something warm in his stomach had encouraged Snape's earlier throwing up. It hadn't been hard to clean up – just a wave of his hand when Snape wasn't looking, but the issue was that Snape needed something in his stomach.

Hesitantly, he sat the bowl down on the floor. "You can eat it with the spoon, or.... however." Snape had tried to eat the macaroni and cheese bending over, eating it like a dog. Coincidentally, Harry had been reading a part in _A Road to Recovery_ that very moment, about letting the victims adjust slowly, so he let him eat it however he wanted to.

"So, I'm guessing you want your water in a bowl, too?" He asked. He already knew the answer, so he turned to the sink to fill up another bowl.

"You know?" He asked, tense with the sounds of Snape eating behind him. That needed to stay in Snape's stomach, or... or they'd have to start feeding him through a tube or something. "I'm really sorry about taking forever to find you. You don't have to give me the silent treatment or anything."

When Harry began talking, Snape stopped eating and looked up in Harry's general direction. His face, which was still filthy with all sorts of grime and who knew what else, was also covered with pumpkin. It'd look kind of endearing... if it were Teddy. But not on a grown man. A grown, battered, abused man.

* * *

Severus always seemed to get himself in the worst situations. In the most complex ones. Why did master keep asking all sorts of questions that s didn't know the answer to? If Master had asked him something else, Severus might be able to answer that. But did he like pumpkin? How did he want his water?

He did not make decisions based on what he _wanted_ – he wanted what his master wanted. Most of those questions, he wondered if he was even supposed to respond to.

And suppose he did what something different than his master did? Would that not count as disagreeing with his owner? Disagreeing was strictly disrespectful.

_'Never disagree,'_ Master Mering's voice rang in his head, _'not even if your owner says the sky is purple'. _He had always said that the owner was correct, no exceptions. Severus had realised that that was true, months later whilst at Master and Mistress Weston's. He had been painting Mistress' toes very carefully, for the place she normally got them done at had burned down in an accident. She had commented, looking out the large window overlooking the city as the sun set, that the sky was looking purple. It indeed had been. It was then that he realised that he would have never noticed that on his own, and as Master Mering's words came back to him, he realised that they were true. Severus did not know more than his owners, and was in no position to make choices on his own. And his owners had always made such excellent choices.

He was brought out of his ramblings as he followed Master into a bedroom. The pumpkin that he had eaten (half of the bowl before Master had taken it away, saying that it was enough for now) convulsed in his stomach as he remembered why he was there. For punishment. Possibility being used.

He brought up the Occlumency shields even higher, so as not to think about it. If he thought about how much pain he would be in, the waiting or it would be even worse.

Master was watching him, a trouble looked on his face. "You okay?" He asked.

Severus blinked, and bowed his head even lower than it had been. "Yes sir." He said his most used words.

"Okay... here's your room. Ron and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley decorated, I think. It's not much, but they didn't have much time or money. I think it's nice, considering. What do you think?"

_There it is! Another question! _Severus brought his eyes to scan the room. On one wall, in the centre of the room, there was a bed. It was quite unfortunately placed so that there was no wall or corner to hide in – you would have your back turned if you slept in that bed. There was also a hard backed chair sitting next to the bed, and simple dresser in a corner. The room boasted nothing, save a large window, which likely overlooked the side yard.

"It is nice." Severus repeated back Master's opinion.

That seamed to be what Master want to hear. He beamed, and walked over to the dresser.

Opening the top drawer, he pulled out a dark grey nightshirt. "Mrs. Weasley said that she put some stuff in here for you – nothing special, just a night shirt and a set of robes to hold you over until we can buy you more."

_Nothing special... hold you over... buy you more... _Severus attempted to analyse the situation. He had not encountered many situations involving clothes and his owners. He was not at all certain how to handle this. Normally, his owners simply magically stripped him, or handed him something to change into. Few words were exchanged.

"Yes, sir." He said finally, going with the safe response.

Master shut the drawer and held out the nightshirt. "Why don't you change into this? I know you still need a lot of baths and stuff to be clean, but we can always wash it."

Severus felt the thin fabric of the shift he wore. He hadn't been clothed in anything at all for years, so now that he was clothed, it felt a bit uncomfortable, to say the least.

But the nightshirt looked quite bit warmer than what he was currently wearing. The Ministry-issued shift did not cover much nor was it very warm. The nightshirt, as opposed to the shift, would go down to bout knee length, and the long sleeves, though no doubt very restricting-feeling, would be undoubtedly warmer.

It was not as if he had a choice, anyhow.

He lifted the shift over his head, and easily slipped it off. He knew that he was very likely to be wearing again – like his past master, once this master decided to get rid of him (assuming Severus survived), he'd want Severus clothed in something that he hadn't had to purchase – so, he neatly folded it in half.

"Oh, God, Snape!" Master yelped, shielding his eyes.

Severus stared down at his long toes, wondering what his master meant by that. It was not as if he had not seen the scars on his body before. _What if he decides to punish me for them? _Severus shivered. Few would want to use a slave so badly scared, he knew that, and felt very shamed to have those scars. Each scar was a result of a punishment of something that he had done wrong. It was a horrible feeling, knowing that his master knew that.

"Here," Master passed Severus the nightshirt. "Sorry... I kind of overreacted. I was just kind of expecting something... different."

Severus knew. He covered his shameful body with the nightshirt, and returned his gaze to his feet. As much as they burned as he stood on them, he was glad that they were there.

Master folded back the dark green blankets on the bed. "It's really comfy. This is the mattress from Fred and George's room. Mrs. Weasley made it. It's stuffed with chicken feathers, I think... or it's spelled to be comfy. Anyway, it is."

Severus hated being used in a bed. That meant that his owner likely intended to fall asleep afterwards. That mean that Severus would lie awake for a long time.

"You don't want to sleep in the bed." Master said this as a statement, not a question.

Severus shifted uneasily. He had not _slept_ in a bed in years. Slaves were not supposed to, he gathered.

Master sighed. "Well, look. I feel bad you sleeping on the floor... here."

Severus jumped back as he saw his master brandish his wand. He trembled._ I am so sorry, Master, _the thought as he closed his eyes and braced himself for the hex.

"No, no... look, no wands, okay? No magic."

Severus opened one eyes, and then the other. Master had tucked his wand back in his pocket, for now. The punishment would come later. He hated waiting for it to come later. He preferred being punished over the constant threat of punishment. The waiting, the terrifying anticipation of a threat was much, much worse.

He watched as Master pulled the blankets off the bed and onto the carpeted floor – the carpeted floor that made the burns feel even worse.

"Where do you want to sleep at?" His master asked. "Over here?" He pointed to the corner by the window.

_He intends for you to sleep,_ Severus realised, his stomach once again convulsing. _He does not intend to punish you or use you tonight._

How could he ever sleep, without having been punished? How could he sleep with the dread of what was going to happen to him hanging over his head?

Master nodded. "Okay, the floor it is." He began arranging the blankets in the corner of the room.

_Help him, you good for nothing scum. What do you think you exist for? For shame! And to think that you wanted to be a good slave._

"Sir?" Severus' voice quavered, though he didn't know why. "May I do that?" He cringed. He should have phrased that differently. He was supposed to ask if he could be of service. He was out of practice of the only thing he knew how to do, he realised, as he hung his head.

Master blinked. "Um... of course, Sn-Severus." He stood away from the blankets and motioned to them. "Be my guest."

Severus walked around the bed, and to the corner that Master designated. He was not at all sure what his master was doing with the blankets, but it seemed that he was mostly done. Severus merely flattened the blankets that were laying folded in the corner, well aware of Master's eyes over his shoulder.

"Good job!" Master's voice seemed unnaturally loud, causing Severus to startle.

_Praise... _Praise, Severus had not heard in years. He squirmed – what was he supposed to say? He could never remembered being this confused over speaking to his masters before.

But why praise him? He was just doing what he was supposed to be doing! "Thank you, sir." A slave could never be too grateful.

"Why don't you lie down?" Maser knelt on the floor, next to the bed of blankets, and petted it with his hands.

_Lie down, _the words translated to. With no further choice, Severus knelt on his knees and curled up in a ball on the blankets. He did not turn his back against his master, but kept it pressed into the corner. He did that because One, it was disrespectful for a slave to turn his back on his master like that, and Two, he liked to be able to see everything that went on in the room. He couldn't stop himself from getting hexed, but if he had a full view of the room, he could brace himself for the blow.

Master coughed. It was a fake cough, one used to break up silence perceived as awkward. But Severus was not to initiate conversation, so he could be assured that it was not his fault. "Do you want to talk about anything?" Master asked, the uncertainty in his voice obvious.

No, he did not. He did not even know what there was to talk about. He could hardly discuss the latest Quidditch scores with his master – the idea was laughable.

"No, sir."

"Really?" Master reached up and began tugging a local of his hair. "Nothing you want to talk about? Nothing? You don't have any questions?"

Questions? Oh, yes, Severus had plenty of questions. He wanted to know what was expected of him. He wanted to know what he was to expect tomorrow. He wanted to know so many things that they were impossible to list.

He hesitated. "Yes sir. There is something I would like to ask, if I could be permitted to do so." None of his English-speaking masters had gotten angry when he wanted to ask a question – Master Mering had occasionally kicked him for asking an inappropriate question, but asking questions in general were not normally prohibited.

Master stopped tugging on the hair strand. "Really? Okay, you can ask anything you want. I promise I'll do my best to answer, even though.... never mind. Ask away."

Severus held his breath before responding. "What could I do to best please you, sir?"

* * *

Snape had a habit of blowing Harry's mind. It blew Harry's mind how Snape could favour Malfoy of all the students. It blew his mind how he could threaten to kill a little boy's toad. It blew his mind how Snape could go back, as a spy, to Voldemort. It blew Harry's mind how Snape, after all that he had been through recently, was still alive.

And it blew his mind when realised that one of the most brilliant men he ever knew could not understand the simple reason for which he had been bought.

"I..." He knew he probably looked like a fish with his mouth hanging open. How was Snape supposed to _please_ him? Please _him_? _Him_? If anything, Harry should have been asking that question. It was partially his fault that Snape had been enslaved by so many people for so long.

"By getting better." He found himself saying. "By trying to get better. That's what you're here for."

For a moment, the dark grey eyes that had held little but emotionless resignation widened with fear.

"Do you understand?" Harry tried. "It's so you can get better. I... I thought we might officially kick off trying tomorrow, after the Wizarding Family Services people leave. Does that sound good to you?"

The thoughts and emotions that ran through the man curled up on the floor were unreadable. "Yes, sir." Snape answered so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear, something that he was becoming accustomed to doing.

"Good." Harry nodded. "Is there anything else?" He kind of hoped so – Snape was really confused, he was pretty sure. He couldn't start to get better until he wasn't as confused, right?

Snape shook his head so that the rat's nest of hair on the back of his head shook, too. "No, sir."

They would have to work on that 'sir' thing, too. Harry was reminded of his quip, "there is no need to call me 'sir', professor". It had been such an epic comeback – he would have to use it again. Somehow, he got a feeling that it wouldn't be quite as epic this time.

* * *

Harry let out a deep breath he hadn't realised that he was holding once he got downstairs to the sitting room.

Snape had just through off the thing that he was wearing as if he had never heard of modesty before in his life. That shouldn't have surprised Harry too much – Snape was the one who had baulked in the first place, when it had come to putting back on the clothes at the hotel. He had been the one perfectly comfortable lounging around in nothing at the hotel. And it wasn't like Harry hadn't seen guys in the shower at school or -heck – Snape just hours earlier.

But seeing him do it and thinking, _'this is Snape'_, was an entirely different story. Snape, who only a year ago had been... well, a year ago was a bad example. Who only two years ago had stood proud, who had been such an overly private person. To see how he now possessed none of that was a bit earth-shattering.

He had realised that this would not be easy. But he hadn't realised how _hard_ it would be. The thought of _'what if McGonagall was wrong? What if it's too cruel to pull him out now'_, he banished almost as quickly as it came. He was doing the right thing. He was. He was just beginning to wonder what the words 'better' and 'recover' actually meant.

The clock said that it was one in the morning. Harry hadn't slept in about twenty-four hours. But he couldn't go to sleep now, not when he promised Ron and Hermione that he'd Firecall Hogwarts when he got home safely.

It took him awhile to find the Floo powder, since it wasn't in a pot on the mantel. He eventually found it on the kitchen table., along with Muggle house keys, and a note reminding him to call.

As he only had enough of the expensive Floo powder to make one call, he made a note to buy some more later. He wondered where you could buy it from.

"Harry!" Ginny's head appeared in the fireplace. "Wake up, Ron! Guys, he's here."

"Hey." Harry said, feeling kind of sheepish for not calling earlier. He could have called earlier. He could have called while Snape was eating – he hadn't realised that they wouldn't go to sleep until he called. He should have – he had the best friends in the world.

"Harry! Where have you been!" Hermione's bushy hair filled the fireplace. "What happened?"

He groaned as the exhausting events of the day came over him. He didn't feel like describing everything that had happened. "I have Snape and Teddy – they are both asleep." At least, he hoped Snape was asleep. He had left the hall light on and the door wide open, and told Snape to get some sleep. He hoped he took that order as literally as he did the others.

"How is he? Really?" Hermione pressed. "Your letter didn't say much."

He was definitely too tired to explain that. "He's alive." Harry rubbed his forehead. "Tomorrow, I'll figure everything out... I don't really know how he is. He's alive."

"Bloody hell, mate." Ron's brow was furrowed. "You like like you're going to pass out."

"I feel like it."Harry admitted, feeling selfish for talking about how tired he was instead of about helping Snape. "Ron, Gin? Your mum invited us over for dinner tomorrow night. Are-"

"I'm not going." Ginny said flatly. "I'm not one of those student with special privileges."

Right, Ginny didn't have the unique privileges to leave Hogwarts in the evenings like Ron and Hermione did. "Well, it's never stopped you from sneaking out before." He reasoned.

Ron laughed while his sister sniffed. "Getting _another_ warning from Flitwick about sneaking out at night seemed to."

"You can tell Harry all about it tomorrow, for goodness' sake, Ronald!" Hermione looked thoughtful. "Maybe I should come through and check on him, just in case..."

Harry reached his hand inside the flames and made contact with Hermione's bushy hair. He pushed her back into the common room.

"No." He shook his head. "Not tonight. He's had a rough, long, scary day, and needs rest."

"Scary?" Ron and Ginny inquired together.

"You'll all see tomorrow." He assured them.

"Get some sleep, Harry." Ginny said, gently.

"Yeah, I'll try." He said, before extinguishing the flames.

He finally fell asleep on the floor in front of the warm fire, too emotionally exhausted to make it upstairs to his new bedroom.

* * *

A bone-chilling scream erupted throughout the house. Harry had never heard anything like it before. Not when he had heard his mother screaming when the dementors were around, not when he had heard Snape scream in the barn... no, never.

He sat up with a shout. His body was insanely sore, but that didn't stop him from brandishing his wand and leaping to his feet just the same.

_The baby,_ he realised. He lit his wand and bounded up the stairs and into Teddy's room, where it was silent. Looking in the crib, the baby was still sleeping. Breathing, alive, sleeping... and silent.

Snape was the one screaming. The Müllers had complained about hearing it all way from the house, sometimes. Of course. He had never known that the Potions Master could scream like that, but apparently he could. Harry didn't want to think about what kind of nightmare that Snape had been having. It had probably been really, really bad.

Harry burst into Snape's room. The makeshift bed in the corner was empty, the blanket Harry had used to tuck Snape in with gone. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Fear gripped Harry's thought. _He's not suicidal, is he? He didn't jump out the window?_ Hermione had protected it against the kind of thing, but it was still possible, maybe, with a really powerful Wizard like Snape.

"Severus?" Harry asked, tentatively. The bed was a normal bed, and not a four-poster. That made it difficult for a fully-grown man like Snape to crawl underneath it, even though Snape was super skinny...

An unintelligible whimper came from the closet. The door was ajar, and he could see Snape poke his head out, a terrified expression on his face.

Relief flooded through Harry's system. Okay, Snape was alive. That was a good thing.

"What're you doing in there?" Harry asked, kindly, though confusion was running through his head. He had thought Snape might feel safer where it was relatively light... He knew that Snape might feel safer on the floor, after being at the Müllers' so long and sleeping on the ground of the barn there... but the closet? Where it was dark?

"I apologize, sir." Snape's voice sounded pretty raspy. Harry's would have, too, had he screamed like that. "Please punish me in whatever manner you please. I was- I was sleeping."

Harry had heard to the whole apology rant by then. He just wished Snape didn't have to say it every second. And punish him for what? Sleeping or being in the closet? Or both? "I'm not going to punish you. You didn't do anything wrong." he said. "Do you like it there in the closet?"

Snape's face froze, and slowly, he nodded, his eyes downcast. "Yes, sir."

"All right, you can sleep in there if you want." Harry said, silently cursing himself. That was probably not good for Snape, to be sleeping in a tiny closet, but he just couldn't force Snape to do something he wasn't comfortable with. Not now. Now he just had to realise that Harry wasn't going to kill him for every tiny thing that he did. "Would you like a night light or something, so it won't be too dark?" He hesitated. "I can get you one. I have one in the baby's room, and the loos. I can get you one for the closet, too."

Snape didn't say anything, just kept his eyes to the floor. Harry was coming to expect that, now..

"Well, um... did you have a bad dream?" Harry asked, wincing as he asked the question. He sounded like he was talking to a five-year-old, not his former professor of Potions.

"Yes, sir." Snape said, quietly. "I apologize. You may-"

"Do you need a warm glass of milk?" He had had a bad dream once at Grimmauld Place, and Sirius had made him a glass of warm milk and talked with him until Harry fell asleep. He'd never forget that as long as he lived.

Snape seemed to think he was crazy, or his expression made Harry think that, anyway. "If you want, sir."

Harry was a pretty indecisive person by nature. He did not need to be making the decisions a fully grown man was supposed to be able to make for himself. "Do you want me to turn on the light? It's up to you."

"I will be fine, Master." Snape assured him, his eyes still down, his voice still quiet.

Harry wasn't sure if he believed him or not. "Okay. Well, um, you know, you can wake me up if you have any problems or anything."

"Yes, sir."

_Yeah, right._ Harry thought about how ignorant he was before he found Snape, as he went to his room to sleep. _He'll be 'better' in no time._

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: _Expected and Unexpected Visitors_**

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**_A/N: _**_My apologies if you have received two alerts - I found an error of spelling that I had not noticed before, and went to fix it. Thanks for the reviews, everyone, and a special shoutout to all the people who are just finding the story (seems to be many!)_


	38. Expected and Unexpected Visitors

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's **_**Harry Potter**_ **series. Thanks!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven  
"Expected and Unexpected Visitors"**

* * *

"Okay, Teddy, I mean it this time – you get dirty one more time, and I'm not going to be so nice about it." Master sat the baby in the playpen in the sitting room. He straightened and pointed to Severus, ignoring Severus' bow as most masters tended to do. "And you. You come here." He pointed on the floor in front of him as he sat down on the sofa.

Severus crawled from the corner with the large bookcases, where he had spent much of his morning sitting, watching Master storm around the house. Master had sat Severus drown there and told him to stay, so Severus had. He had not even asked Master if he could help him, because Master had told him to stay there – if he were to help Master, it would require moving from the spot. It was smart of him to think that way.

"Turn around." Master instructed, pulling out a large pair of scissors. The blades shone in the sunlight that poured through the windows, and it was not hard to imagine the blade being sharp enough to slice through anything, such as skin.

_He does not intend to cut you with it,_ he told himself. _He has been speaking of Wizarding Family Services all morning. He would not like for them to see a dead slave in the middle of the sitting room – they would think that it was a bad thing for the baby to see that, because then the baby would think that he could do that to just anyone._

"It's all right, Severus – I'm just going to cut your hair." Master laid his hand on Severus' shoulder.

Whenever anyone touched him, it was bad. The cold, yet burning feeling of the touch delivered was excruciating. He pulled back as a bit of orange light came out from his body and stung Master's hand.

Master pulled back and yelped, bringing his hand back to his chest as a reaction.

The baby, who Master called Teddy, giggled at their antics from his playpen.

"I ap-apologize, s-sir." Severus sputtered, as his head filled with a burning pain like none other. "Please- please punish me in whatever manner you see fit." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly for a moment. He had endured much worse pain before. This was nothing. He was closing his eyes, because it was very embarrassing to have hurt his master so, especially a master who had not given him leave to do magic.

"It's okay!" Master said reaching his hand out again as if to touch Severus, but quickly thought better of it. "It was just an accident! Accidental magic! I used to do it all the time when I was a kid. Once, I even blew up my aunt."

Severus tried not to stare at his master. Blowing up one's aunt and shocking one's master were two very different things entirely. In some ways, he felt fortunate to have a new master, who did know any better, but he felt guilty thinking about telling his master of what was right, which only made his head burn worse. But that said, he did not know better than his master. His master always knew better than him, period.

"Yes, sir. I apologize again, sir." Severus turned around without another word.

He felt the cold blade of the scissors against his neck and shuddered. He knew that his master only attempted to cut his hair, but there was a lingering fear and distrust. It was wrong to distrust your master, of course, so that likely contributed to the pain on his head. He had always been responsible for his own hair, and was not used to having his master takes care of it. It made him feel bad that he was such a burden to his master. Severus wanted so badly to be of service to his master, not a burden.

And perhaps, if he was not such a burden, he would not be punished as much. And after the Wizarding Family Services left, he would be. He could never become a better slave without punishment. He wondered how his master, of all people, had gotten involved in the training of slaves... though his master called it "getting better".

He heard his master sign. "Severus, this is a mess. When is the last time you combed your hair?"

Severus could not remember. He occasionally had used his wand to quickly trim it to a satisfactory length.... the Ministry of Magic in Germany might have shorn it when they rescued him from The Monster and let him wear the shift... but funnily enough, he could not remember.

"I cannot recall, sir." Severus admitted. "It may have been several years."

Severus quickly grew uncomfortable. He could feel his master freeze, and tension filled the room. What was wrong? What had he said? It did not matter – he was very sorry that he had said it.

"I apologize, Master." He wished to turn around and kneel to the man, but could not, as Master hadn't given him leave to get up. "Please forgive me, and punish me in-"

"No, wait." Master said. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait – _years_? How has it been _years_ since your hair was last cut?"

Severus sensed something dreadfully wrong. "I did not have my hair cut at my last master's, Master..."

"Müller." Master interrupted. "His name is Joseph Müller."

"Master Müller did not cut my hair, nor did my master before that." Severus chose his words carefully, as he could not speak the words 'The Monster' aloud. It was wrong to speak ill of any of your masters, even the ones who no longer wanted you.

Master shook his head. "Severus... how long do you think that you've been a slave?"

The memories flashed through Severus brain, the Occlumency shields not enough to hide them. Being pinned down by the Auror when going to Master Mering's. Looking over the crowed of potential buyers at Henderson's. Lying in Master and Mistress Weston's bed, struggling to breath as shallowly as possible, as to not wake Mistress. He felt his breath catch as images of Master Weston selling him to The Monster came. He abruptly shut off that part of his mind. He could not think about that. It hurt him in ways that the burning on his head could never compete with.

"Severus?" Master's voice brought his mind back where it was supposed to be.

"I do not know sir." Severus admitted, his throat suddenly gone dry, despite all of the water that he drank after vomiting the porridge given to him that morning.

He was not allowed to turn around, so he was unable to see his Master's face behind him. "It's been a little less than a year. It's May of 1999... it's about one year exactly since the end of the War."

1999? 1999? How could it possibly be 1999? The Dark Lord had been defeated in 1998... 1999? But he had been at The Monster's for so long.... 2005, he could understand. He would be able to accept 2001... but a mere matter of months?

"Breathe." His Master said. "Come on, take in one breath, and let it out. Come on... breathe."

Severus was following his Master's instructions without much thought to it. He was feeling very much in shock. Could it be so? Had it only been months since he was at Master Mering's? How long had he been at the Monsters? It had been dark all the time there. There had been no concept of time. It had always been dark. They had only been punishment and waiting for it. Seven months could have really gone by... but it had truly felt like years. Maybe his new master was teasing him. Perhaps Severus simply did not get the joke. That had happened a lot in his life.

"Look, I don't know what you've been through the past several months, but I know it wasn't good." Master was no longer angling the scissors by Severus' hair, but was still. The only thing moving was the oblivious, giggling baby in the playpen. "And you don't have to tell me what went on, but you have to believe me when I say that I never wanted this."

Oh, Severus believed him. His master had likely wanted him to break for himself, not to go through the hands of many masters. Though apparently his master did not want him that badly, or he would have bought Severus long ago.

"Yes, sir." Regardless of what he had originally believed, his master ordered him to believe him. It made things so much easier when he was told what to believe – that way, he didn't have to struggle with what he should think.

Master sighed. "This is hopeless. We're going to have to cut it all off. I can have Hermione brew a hair regrowth Potion, or you can brew it if you like..." Master began to cut off hair.

Severus could feel the cold scissors next to his scalp and bit his lip to keep from pulling away. He liked to brew Potions? He remembered that when he let his mind go. Lily had- no. Not her. He had forgotten about her.

_How could you forget Lily? _A voice taunted. _Lily was your life, your only reason for existing._

But he had forgotten about her. Severus had not though of her in years- no, months. He could not imagine how it had only been months, not years, but he could image how he had forgotten about Lily. He had a new reason for existing.

* * *

Harry cut away a huge clump of Snape's hair away, and watched it fall to the floor. There was another clump of something in there that was going to pass as an unidentifiable object. So far, he had not found any bugs, though. He wasn't afraid of bugs (though after Aragog and Co, he was no longer a fan of spiders), but he didn't particularly like the idea of tiny bugs crawling on Snape's scalp.

He wasn't ever going to be a hairdresser, for sure. The hairs on Snape's head were all staring to look chopped and uneven. But that was all right, because Harry was going to find the time to cut it all off eventually. _Eventually_ was the key word there. He was running short on time right now.

How had Snape thought that he had been a slave for _years_? Harry imagined time went by really slow for slaves, since they just had to be so miserable... but Snape was smarter than that. If it had been years since his hair was last cut, it would be the length of Luna Lovegood's, who never cut her hair – surely he would have realised that?

He had spent that morning getting ready for the Wizard Family Service's visit. Since they had just moved into the house, it was pretty clean, though it felt like Teddy and Snape were doing their sincere bests to make that not so. Teddy had opened one of the bottom cupboards and gotten himself – and the floor – covered with flour. Then Severus threw up his porridge and just about stopped breathing because he was so terrified, judging by the look on his face. It was like he thought that Harry was going to hit him or something.

Harry had had to send Severus to sit quietly in a corner in the living room while he cleaned up his mess with magic, but when he turned back to the kitchen, he realised that the three seconds he had turned his back to show Snape where to sit, Teddy had fancied Snape's mess a wonderful thing to play in. So then, while he was bathing Teddy again, Snape had evidentially backed too hard into the bookshelves and knocked a bunch of Harry's old textbooks down... including "The Monster's Book of Monsters", which Snape seemed to find just terrifying... and a soaking wet Teddy, fresh out of the tub, completely abusing.

Harry had clean up the mess, put Teddy back in the tub to wash the smell of the throw-up off... and then he remembered the playpen, thank God.

He felt like there was something he forgot to do, though. Sometimes that he should have taken care of, but at that moment, it way too late anyway, because the doorbell chimed.

_They're here, _he realised. He was covered in hair, and it was all over the floor... "Severus," Harry said. "Why don't you go upstairs to your room until I call you down?" It was such an obvious 'get away' excuse, that even Harry could see through it – Snape of all people would most certainly be able to see through it.

But Snape just nodded. "Yes, sir." He got to his feet and scurried away, just as the doorbell rang again.

He banished the hair on his robes and floor, before scooping Teddy up on his hip.

When he had agreed to be Teddy's godfather, it hadn't even crossed his mind that Remus and Tonks would die. When he had agreed to be Teddy's guardian in the event of Teddy's grandmother's death, he hadn't actually thought she would die before Teddy turned seventeen. He knew it seemed that everyone who got close to him died, and that he might as well get used to it, but that was not exactly something he wanted to get used to.

Harry took a deep breath and opened the door to a woman, who had a name tag of the Ministry-affiliated Wizarding Family Services.

"Hi." Harry said, trying to sound as friendly as possible. He hefted the baby on his hip. "You must be from Wizarding Family Services."

"I must be." The lady with blue-grey hair pushed her glasses up her nose. "May I come in, Mr. Potter? I have not all day."

_Yeah, real smooth, Potter. _He stepped back and held the door wide open. "Oh, yeah, come in, Mrs..." he peered at the name tag, "Mrs. Fields."

"Ms." She corrected.

He felt his face turning red, at about the same time Teddy's turned lime green. "Oh... I'm sorry."

"Yes, me too." She shifted the clipboard in her arms.

Harry closed the door behind them and ushered towards the sitting room. "Why don't you take a seat? Could I get you some tea?" He licked his lips, hoping Ms. Fields wouldn't notice his nervousness. This was his one chance to keep Teddy – where would he go if not to Harry?

"No, thank you – I am fine." she smoothed her light blue robes, which matched both her eyes and hair perfectly, as she sat down on the armchair on the opposite wall of the sofa, next to the fireplace.

Harry hefted a squirming Teddy once again. "Would you mind if I sat him down in his playpen for awhile? He's really rambunctious and gets into everything." Teddy wasn't a huge fan of a the playpen, but he usually lasted ten minutes or so before he pitched a fit.

She nodded. "Of course, Mr. Potter." she said politely.

Harry put him in his playpen and got him interested in a rattle that sparks shot out of, that Fred and George had made for him when he was born, before sitting down on the couch.

"He is a **Metamorphmagus**." Ms. Fields observed.

Harry nodded. "Tonk- Teddy's mum was one. It's supposed to be pretty rare to be one."

"It is indeed." Ms. Fields looked over at Teddy. "I thought it more likely he would take on after his father."

Harry squirmed. He was hoping she hadn't know about that. "Well, you know, we were all kind of concerned about that – Remus especially- but it's all turned out all right."

She just inclined her head as a response. "Well, how have you and Theodore gotten along as of yet?"

_Me and 'Theodore' have gotten along just fine. Could you offer any advice on how to get along with a professor-turned-slave?_ "It's been good."

"I was looking for a more thorough response, Mr. Potter." She had her quill poised over the clipboard, Harry hated those never-ink quills – they reminded him too much of Blood Quills.

_Oops._ "He's a really sweet kid." He didn't have any answerers prepared because he hadn't really know what to expect. "We haven't had a lot of bonding time since his grandmother died – I've been really busy. But I plan on it now.... we're going to dinner at close family friend of ours tonight, and he really likes flying around on my broomstick – with me, of course." He hastily added.

She was writing something down on the clipboard. He could only imagine what she was writing.

"How do you see your life changing with a little one?" Came another question.

Harry's life was constantly changing – what she should have asked was how Teddy fit into the equation. "Well, I obviously have to plan things a little better – I can't just go meet my mates very well at the pub without finding someone to sit Teddy..." he paused. Or he could just be honest. "Ms. Fields? Can I be completely candid with you? I don't know if it's going to change all that much. I mean, I've never been like the other boys my age. I don't smoke, or drink anything stronger than butterbeer. I have virtually no social life, and I'm plenty used to hard work and sleepless nights." Whenever he ran out of Dreamless Sleep , it was guaranteed to become a sleepless night.

"And have you considered how this will effect your schooling?"

"I've left, as you've probably guessed."

"There was an article in the Prophet." She peered at him over her glasses.

Figures. "Well, my friend Hermione is going to bring me the work I missed and help me study – Dumbledore always said that she was a very smart witch for her age – and at this point, it's mostly revision. The N.E.W.T.s are in about six weeks. Teddy will probably spend much of his time at my friend's mother's. I've already got it all planned out."

"And what of afterwards?" she asked. "I'm well aware that you are a very wealthy young man, Mr. Potter, but are you considering going into any careers?"

Didn't most people? "I plan to be an Auror." he stated.

"Really?" she either looked doubtful or impressed. "That is quite a difficult programme to get into."

He knew that. "I'm only worried about needing an 'O' for Potions – I'm really bad at it." He glanced back over to the playpen to check on Teddy. "Isn't this conversation supposed to be about him?"

"This interview is to determine whether or not you would make a suitable parent." She explained patiently. "Now, I have noted your marital status, and while it is quite normal for someone your age to not be married, are you currently seeing someone?"

_'Yes,'_ he should probably lie. He wondered what from this interview would end up in the Prophet. "Um... no." He admitted. "I've kinda been too busy for that right now."

"Understandable, understandable," she pursed her lips as she looked through her clipboard. "Bearing in mind when I ask you this that each answer you give is strictly confidential, if you _were_ seeing someone, would that person ideally be a man or a woman?"

What? Was she asking if Harry was.. was... "A man?" He repeated, in shock.

Ms. Fields raised her brow. "All right. And do you-"

No! Harry hadn't meant... no. "No, I mean, a woman." He said, hurriedly. He felt his face turn red at his bumbling thoughts. "I'm not gay. At least, you know... I've never had an interest in that area. I like girls. Women... you know."

Ms. Fields took a deep breath and lowered her quill and clipboard. "You do realise that there are not right or wrong answers in this interview?"

Yes, there was. If he gave all wrong answers, then they wouldn't let him keep Teddy. They'd think he was an unfit guardian. If there were no wrong answers, what was the point of having the interview?

But he wasn't gay. Just confused... not even about his sexuality. Just about the question, for about two seconds. The way she worded it took him by surprise and all. He had never even thought about a guy in that way before, and now that he did... he shuddered.

"I understand." He lied about the 'wrong answer' thing.

They went all over all sorts of things – Harry's childhood, the War, where /teddy would go to school, future punishments, etc. She was very thorough.

"And suppose young Theodore develops some traits reminiscent of his father's illness?" She said after they went over the **Metamorphicism-thing** (keeping him away from Muggles until he could control it, how to deal with bullying over it).

That was all Harry needed right now, a werewolf godson. "It shouldn't be that big of a deal – I've looked into it." Actually, Hermione did. "It's not all that common for half-werewolves to transform or anything. Teddy might like bloodier meat and things like that, but he's essentially harmless."

"You have done your research." Ms. Fields remarked, writing down comments. Harry itched to know what she was writing, hopefully on how impressed she was, or maybe on how Harry had let Teddy out of the playpen, but warded doors and dangerous things to keep Teddy from getting hurt.

"What does-" she leaned forward to say, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"I'll get it." Harry leaped up. "Could you please keep an eye on Teddy?"

_Who on earth is it? _He wondered, going up to the door. _I told everyone I was busy with something important today... if it's George, wanting to try to shove some kind of exploding pastie down my throat, I'll kill him._

He opened the door, prepared to tell the red-haired prankster off, but he did not see the face he expected. Instead, he was greeted by cold, calculating grey eyes.

"Lucius Malfoy." Harry said with all the venom he could muster.

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: _Mr. Malfoy, Sr._**

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_**A/N: **__A Hagrid-sized thank-you to everyone who has helped 'Unwell' get to 50,000 views, and nearly 400 reviews!_

_To everyone and _Dragonfly7_, especially; the answer is 'yes,thanks!'. I can only re-read a chapter three or four times before it all looks the same, and sometimes I miss errors. If you see any, whether it be factual, punctuation, grammer, etc., please let me know!_

_Thanks again._


	39. Mr Malfoy, Sr

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's **_**Harry Potter**_ **series. Thanks!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight  
"Mr. Malfoy, Sr."**

* * *

This was the man who almost killed Ginny. This was the man who had somehow escaped both Death Eater punishments, of Azkaban and slavery. This was the man that Harry had vowed to put behind bars. This was the man Harry _would_ put behind bars... as soon as he had the time to actively pursue it.

"Mr. Potter." Lucius said evenly, his voice filled with false kindness. "How good to see you again – may I step in?" He made a motion to, but Harry blocked the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" He hissed. How had Lucius Malfoy found out where Harry lived? Why had he come? To torture Snape? Over Harry's dead body.

"Well, I have just dropped in for a visit." Lucius raised his voice so that anyone on the ground floor would be able to hear it. Harry just hoped that no one on the first floor would be able to hear it – Snape, namely. "I have dropped many important things just to be able to come. I had no idea you were... busy." He cocked his head slightly.

"I'm in an interview." Harry said, feeling his heartbeat speed up, realising that he had pulled out his wand at some point and started pointing it at the man. "You're-"

"Oh, we're done with that." Ms. Fields called from the sitting room. "Is that a friend of yours, Mr. Potter? Bring him in – it would be nice to interview a friend of yours, as well."

Harry glared at Lucius. "He's not a-", but Lucius just breezed past him, into the house.

"_Giselle_," Lucius crooned, taking in Ms. Fields, which to be frank, was a lot to take in. "How _wonderful_ to see you. I chose to drop by on a _perfect_ day, I supposed."

Harry felt like gagging at the man's fake... well, fake everything. He snatched up Teddy just as Ms. Fields tittered at Lucius' words – he didn't want Teddy anywhere near Lucius Malfoy.

"Mr. Potter, I had no idea that you were friendly with Mr. Malfoy." Ms. Fields giggled. "I should have known that such a important figure such as yourself would be friends with him."

Harry opened his mouth to respond to that last sentence, but then he realised that Ms. Fields had been talking to Lucius. Important figure? Bullshit.

"Make a large contribution to underprivileged kids lately, Lucius?" He asked sarcastically, turning so that Teddy wouldn't have to look at Lucius. He didn't need to see the man that was indirectly responsible for the death of Remus and Tonks – and as a former Death Eater, he was. Because there was no such thing as a 'former' Death Eater, with the exception of Snape – you were either in or out, and if you were in, you were in forever.

"It has come to great use." Ms. Fields enthused to Lucius. "I cannot thank you enough."

Harry rolled his eyes. How had he managed to be so right? But at the same time, that sent a shiver up his spine. Because why would Lucius Malfoy be trying to hard to get on Ms. Fields' good side?

_Lucius needs to leave, now. But how do you get him out without losing Ms. Fields' good favour?_ Honestly, what had happened to Harry's backbone? He so desperately needed Ms. Fields' good favour, but at the same time... Lucius was definitely up to something. There was no way that his coming her, today – now- was an accident.

"Malfoy, leave." He said, pointing to the door with his free hand. "I don't know what you want but-"

"I was just going to ask Mr. Potter for a tour of his home." Ms. Fields tucked her clipboard underneath her arm. "And I think I would like that cup of tea, now.

_If you send him away, he'll just come back or try to sabotage you later on – and he'll be angrier. Best to let him do whatever he plans to do now, in front of you, where you can keep an eye on him. _Harry's inner Slytherin had a point, but that would only work if he kept Lucius as far away from both Snape and Teddy as possible.

"Have you interviewed the slave yet?" Lucius asked, sounding overly casual as he strode into the kitchen behind Harry, arm linked with Ms. Fields'.

"The slave?" Ms. Fields inquired, seating herself down at the table.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._ Harry had hoped that they would be able to avoid that little fact. Snape was nowhere near fit to interview. Harry had expected Ms. Fields to glance at Snape when the house tour came to Snape's room, but that was it. Oh, God. This was bad.

"Lucius." He tried to distract the man as he poured hot water from the top of his wand into mugs. "Tell me more about that donation you made – I might be interested in making one myself."

That seemed to do the trick for Ms. Fields, who started actively talking up all sorts of organisations and ways to donate. It seemed that Ms. Fields could be easily allured, due to her fondness of helping children... Lucius, for whatever reason, seemed to be taking advantage of that. Well, two could play that game.

* * *

"_Scum! Nothing by worthless scum!"_

"_Such a good pet."_

"_You're lucky to be treated this well!"_

"_He is very amusing – certainly more so than the others we could have bought. Freshly trained."_

"_You think yourself worthy to eat from my fingers?"_

"_Such a good pet."_

Severus closed his eyes tighter, and pulled his knees closer to his chest. He did not want to think about any of that right now. He concentrated hard until he could not think about any of that. He would have to hope that his new master did not forbid Occlumency – if he didn't, that meant Severus could do it, and do it and everything would be fine.

The walls of the room were painted a light green, and were plain, with nothing on them. It seemed, by judging from the night before, that Master wanted Severus to sleep in there. Why? Why not find a closet to have Severus sleep in, or have him sleep on the kitchen floor, as long as he was up and out of the way by the time Master woke? Wouldn't Master rather save the bedroom for a guest, someone above and worth more than Severus?

He could hear voices in the house but using his Occlumency skills, he drowned out what they were saying. Master had sent Severus to this room likely because he did not want Severus to interact with visitors until he was better. But that was just likely – it could have been anything, Severus refused to eavesdrop on Master – it was disrespectful.

"And this is the slave's room." Master's voice was right outside the door. "I've sent him up here while you were here – I'd rather him not around many people."

Ha, so Severus was right. Something was wrong with him that had to get better, but it was not his guessing abilities.

"I was unaware that you owned a slave, Mr. Potter." The woman's voiced travelled through the shut door. Even though Severus wasn't supposed to be listening in, it was hard not to with them right outside the door – and his head burned as consequence.

"It's a new thing." Master explained.

Severus glanced around the room, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He had a feeling that something was wrong. Whenever something was wrong, he was the one to pay for it.

He began to crawl over to the closet, doing his best to do so despite the black robes that hung around him. They were very uncomfortable, and much too big, but Master said to wear them.

And not a moment too soon – it was just when Severus sat on the back on the closet, enjoying the fact that even though light from the room poured in, making not as dark in the closet for him, no one would see him inside the closet - because it was too dark, Master opened the bedroom door.

"See, this is it. Nothing special." His voice was filled with anxiety.

Severus closed his eyes tightly, the burns in his head driving him to new levels. Everything in him wanted to go out and bow to his Master, but he couldn't – 'I'd rather him not around many people', Master had said. That was quite a clear instruction to remain hidden.

"I am sorry, but I must interview everyone in the household, slaves and house-elves included." The woman stated.

House-elf? Master had house elves? How wonderful! Severus had never lived in a household with house-elves before. Perhaps he would be able to see them soon; he wondered if they would like him.

He listened intently to the long silence, holding his breath with anticipation. He knew that the strange woman he observed in the doorway was from Wizarding Family Services – Master had said that they were coming.

"Severus?" His master finally broke the silence by calling him.

Master did not seem angry or violent. He sounded like something else, for whatever reason. Wizarding Family Services were there, so Master was obviously trying to impress – perhaps that explained the kindness in Master's voice.

Severus crawled out from the closet. He kept his eyes on the off-white carpet, bowing his head. When he came out far enough, he bowed his head even lower, so that it touched the ground – the burning of his forehead worsened with the carpet's touch.

"Master." He murmured. He also acknowledged the woman as 'miss' as he did not know her name.

"She's here to help Teddy be able to live here." Master motioned to the woman whose skin was so thin, it seemed that even her skin was blue.

Did young Master Teddy not live there? It certainly seemed like he did.

Severus lifted his head off the ground and glanced at the baby Master had sat on the floor. He had crawled under the bed, and had his head sticking out – his hair was a distinct turquoise. Severus was starting to wonder if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

"Yes, sir." Severus responded. It was not his business to know why Wizarding Family Services had come over for Master's own child... but wait. Master had said that it had only been a mere amount of _months_ since he had been at Master Mering's – Master couldn't have had a child in that time. Was he adopting a magic-less child? Or perhaps just one who had no living relatives – that was nice of his master - it was hard to fathom that his Master was nice, if he was going to be the one to re-train Severus.

_He was never a cruel person when you knew him,_ Severus shoved his thoughts away. Thinking about his past life was wrong – why did he keep doing that? The burning on his head increased, and he bit down on his lip to show no sign of it. It was not right for him to express emotion in front of master, or his guest. That was only for when he was alone, or perhaps when he had the privilege of being around others of his kind.

"Erm, you can sit on the bed." Master said to Ms. Fields. "I've got to go check on... well, you know that I don't-"

"Well, if it isn't Severus Snape, the Dark Lord's pet Death Eater." the cold voice made goosebumps rise up on Severus' body. All the memories of the nightmares, the pain, the anger, the hatred rushed through him at the sound of that voice.

He slowly lifted his eyes to the doorway. He was intending on doing what he always did, raising his eyes just long enough to see the person, and then avert them back to the ground – he did this without thinking, usually. But the image of the person in the doorway cause him to freeze.

"_My reward for assisting the capture of one of the Dark Lord's most violent sidekicks is getting to watch you suffer." _The long blonde hair, carefully groomed, not a strand out of place.

The masked face pouring the filthy sewer water down his throat – Severus was fairly certain that it had only been in his nightmares that the man in the doorway, with the sharp, pointed features, was there. He had not been there at The Monster's, where that had happened for real.

The man was smiling a smile with too many teeth. It was a false smile, a strained one. The grey eyes held no warmth.

"Severus!" His Master's voice made him stop analysing the man, and bring his head to the floor again.

"Master Malfoy." He murmured in greeting to the man.

* * *

Harry could have killed him. He had told Ms. Fields that he wasn't having Lucius around for a reason. That was it – he was throwing Lucius out. Screw having Ms. Fields' good favour.

"Lucius," he tried to keep his voice level for the sake of the rest interview, the oblivious baby playing underneath the bed, and for Snape. "I asked you to stay in the sitting room for a reason. If you're not capable of obeying the rules in my house, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Good day, Mr. Malfoy – you're welcome to use the Floo – I trust you know where it is?"

_Except that there's no Floo powder. Idiot._

He turned his attention to Snape who was kneeling on the floor, shaking like a leaf. Instead of being overwhelming with guilt and pity like he normally did at that sight, he was engulfed with anger. An anger directed at those idiots responsible for Snape's pain, and an anger aimed at Lucius, who evidentially had done or said something at some point of Snape's life to make him act like this. At least Harry's remarks had wiped the smirk off of Lucius' face that had appeared when Snape bowed to Lucius.

"I apologize – I thought that you might want to know your owl has arrived, and he's injured." Lucius would have made a great actor, his voice so urgent... except for one thing.

"Hedwig died the night you and the rest of your 'colleagues' chased me over Little Whinging." Harry said, evenly. "Now, I still don't know why you're here, but I'm ordering you to leave!" He fingered the wand in his pocket. If he aimed it at Lucius, Ms. Fields might think that the household was too hostile for a child to live in.

"I'm terribly sorry for the misunderstanding, Mr. Potter." Lucius nodded curtly. "Do not forget to ask the slave how many innocent _children_ the slave has tortured, Ms. Fields – I think that you will find it most conclusive to your interview."

Why wouldn't Lucius shut up? It was now utterly clear to Harry why Lucius had come – to sabotage the interview and make it look like Snape's fault to Harry. "Out!" He shouted angrily, abandoning all composure.

"Good day." Lucius seemed to nod at no one in particular, before turning on his heel and leaving the room – and hopefully the house.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before turning back to Snape, who was practically hyperventilating. "He's gone."

He turned to Ms. Fields, who was looking at him with a quizzical look on her face – she might have been a little angry, too.

"I guess... I guess you're done here." He sighed, scooping up Teddy who began to cry. It was his nap-time, so he was feeling a bit cranky, it seemed. "I'm sorry, but I don't like Lucius Malfoy around Teddy or Severus. I know he's given a lot of money to your organisations, but he had a bit of a history with me – I won't let him hurt Teddy or Severus. It's not worth the risk."

Now she just looked truly confused. "Done?" she asked. "I would still like to interview your slave if you think that he is able, and perhaps ask you a few more questions."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he understood what she meant, and turned back to Snape. "Severus, do you feel like answering a few questions?"

A pause, and then "yes, sir". Snape straightened a bit so that he could answer properly.

"Severus, is it?" Ms. Fields settled on the bed and got her quill ready – the feather of the quill was, of course, blue. "Where is it that you hail from, and how old are you?"

Snape was chewing on his lip, a habit of his Harry hadn't really noticed before. "I am from near Manchester, miss." At least _he_ got the "Ms." part right.

"From near Manchester?" Ms. Fields seemed surprised. "My ex brother-in-law is from Manchester – you do not seem to have an accent at all."

He hadn't talked enough for her to make a decent opinion about his accent, but Ms. Fields was right – Snape didn't sound like he was from Manchester.

"I carefully avoided it as I got older." Snape explained. Upon closer look, Harry could see tears drying against Snape's filthy skin. "And as for my age, I am not sure. I apologize – I will ask my master to punish me when time permits."

_He probably doesn't understand what you told him earlier, about months,_ Harry realised. "You're thirty-nine." He informed Snape, remembering that when he glanced at some of the very telling files given to him after he bought Snape, thinking "he's just under forty!". In the back of his mind, Harry knew that, of course, but sometimes Snape seemed so much older.

He turned to Ms. Fields to explain. "I just bought him yesterday actually, and he had been treated in a way that's not so good. That's why he's so dirty – one bath was not good enough, and, well, it's a long story."

She was writing on her clipboard. "Interesting... which answers my question of how long you have lived in the Potter household. What do you think of Theodore, Severus?"

Long pause. Just when Harry opened his mouth to prod Snape, Snape answered. "He seems like a well behaved child that Master cares for – I have noticed that his hair changes colour."

Ms. Fields chuckled. "He is a Metamorphmagus." She said slowly, as if she were speaking to someone Teddy's size. "That means that he can change his appearance at will., He cannot control it at his age, but he will be able to soon. It is a very rare ability."

Harry knew that Snape knew that – Snape had known Tonks, too. But Snape nodded as if this was all new to him. "Yes, miss." He replied.

"Now, Severus, what do you think of Teddy coming to live here permanently?"

Snape stole a glance at Harry before responding. "I think that-"

He was interrupted by one of Teddy's shrills screams – coming from a square mouth, believe it or not. "I'm, um, going to lay him down. I'll be right back." Harry said, awkwardly.

He hoped things wouldn't go drastically wrong in the moments that he was gone. He hoped Ms. Fields wouldn't interrogate Snape like she had Harry. He hoped Lucius had actually left and hadn't transfigured himself into a lampshade or something, hiding in the living room, waiting to pounce as soon as Ms. Fields left. He hoped that Teddy would go to bed like a good kid, and not cause a lot of trouble.

But as luck would have it, Teddy would not go to bed. Not even when Harry turned on the mobile over his crib (that shot fireworks in a rather calming way) and gave him a sipee cup full of water. He just screamed until he was red in the face, and his hair was black to match his mood.

_Ms. Fields is going to think that I'm the worst guardian ever_, he thought, shutting Teddy's door behind him. There was no time to check on Lucius – Snape was probably floundering in his room alone with Ms. Fields. In _the Road to Recovery_, Harry had read that victims of sexual abuse were often uncomfortable being around people alone – Harry would have to make a point to remind Snape that Weston was just a bad egg, and that few people would hurt Snape like that.

"Is that what he said, that he would not be so nice about it?" He heard Ms. Fields ask as he rounded the corner into Snape's room.

"Yes, Mistress Fields." Snape's response was quite as always. He had not moved since Harry left – he was still sitting on his heels, on his knees, head bowed low, though not to the floor. He did bow it to the floor in Harry's direction when Harry re-entered the room, but got back up and continued answering Ms. Fields questions.

"When he said that, what do you think he meant by that?"

Snape sent another nervous look towards Harry, biting down on his lip even harder. "I am not sure."

She sighed, and apparently decided to change tactics. "Were Mr. Malfoy's words true? Were you really a follower if You-Know-Who?"

_No. It's not going there. _If Snape had to be interviewed for Harry to be given legal custody of Teddy, fine, but that question was a bit too Prophet-y.

"We're not going to ask him questions about that." Harry stood up from the hard-backed chair next to Snape' bed.

Ms. Fields turned to Harry, a pained expression on her face, He didn't know if it was pained because she was annoyed at his interruption, or if it was something else.

"I realise that this is difficult for Severus, but after hearing what Mr. Malfoy said, I am obligated by the law to ask you about it."

What good was that law exactly? Harry's teacher had reported that he was _possibly_ mistreated at least a dozen times in primary school. That worst that had ever happened was a visit from some people, who Harry had been instructed to lie to by the Dursleys. They never came back like they promised that they would – now that he thought about it, he wondered if that was the work of Dumbledore. Okay, so maybe the law had some good points.

"As your work as a Death Eater, did you ever kill or torture a child?" Her voice was no longer soft, as if she was talking to a little kid, but rather angry.

Snape bit his lip even harder, then glanced over at Harry as if he waiting for a clue. He shifted on his knees on the carpet for just a moment before the skin on his lip broke. Blood began to dribble down his chin, but he didn't let up.

"Snape!" Harry leapt out of his chair.

And that was apparently a mistake; Snape's eyes widened in what could only be described as pure terror as he began to kneel and cower on the floor, uttering his apologies, which was starting to get pretty old.

"Severus." Harry said softly, ignoring Ms. Field's contact scribbling. "No one is going to punish you – just answer the nice lady's questions." Now he was the one who talked like he was talking to a three-year-old.

Snape glanced over to Harry as he straightened – the blood was gushing out his his lip still, and there was a ton of blood now on the carpet.

"Yes, miss." He whispered, or at least it sounded like a whisper, as his voice was hoarse.

Harry felt his heart sink. Snape killed small, innocent children? Little children that probably had families and people who loved then...

_Wait. _A light turned on in his head. '_And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?_'... Snape was worried before he killed Dumbledore that his soul would be split with the murder – the memories proved it. Snape couldn't have killed _anyone_ before that – at least in cold blood - otherwise his soul would have been already split...

Ms. Fields had a regretful look on her face as she stood. "I'm afraid that that wraps up my visit, Mr. Potter."

_No._ "No, wait – sit back down." He pointed backed to where she originally sat.

He neared Snape, and knelt on one knee next to him. He noticed how Snape shied away, but Harry ignored it. "Severus, what do you mean by 'yes'? Did you ever kill any children?"

Snape shook his head. "No, sir."

Relief flooded Harry. He was pretty impressed by his own deduction. Was this how Hermione felt all the time? "And you're telling the truth?"

Snape looked up at Harry for just a moment. Though he didn't make eye contact with Harry, Harry could see the hurt fill Snape's eyes. "I would never lie to my master, sir."

"So you have tortured them, though?" Ms. Fields returned to her seat. "Could you tell us more about that?"

Silence, and then, "Master Dumbledore said to do whatever I had to do to convince the Dark Lord of my loyalties."

Dumbledore had said that? Harry didn't really know what to make of that - Dumbledore had knowingly let tortured all in the name of the Greater Good? Seemed rather counter-productive, or at least ironic.

"But Dumbledore said to, right?" Harry grasped onto the last shred of hope that he had left. "If Dumbledore said it, that accounts for the years 1995 through 1998." Harry felt like a mathematician. "He's only being punished for the years when he was willingly a Death Eater – did you torture any children then?"

"No, sir."

"Did you kill any children then?"

"No, sir."

"See?" Harry sighed with relief, and stood. "He's been cleared for whatever he did in that period of time that he was a spy – the torturing children part doesn't count."

Ms. Fields nodded, finishing whatever she was writing on her clipboard. "Well, I do think that I am finished here." She stood again, and motioned to the door to indicate that Harry was to go first.

_No. Give me another chance. I'll change that comment about sending Teddy to Muggle primary school – I'll find time to home school._ He reluctantly walked out of the room, with Ms. Fields on his heels, shutting the door behind them.

:"Mr. Potter, I'm not going to pretend to understand the history between you and Mr. Malfoy." she began.

_You wouldn't believe it if I told you,_ he privately thought.

"I find him to be quite the caring and charming man, but after seeing your slave's reaction to his coming in the room, I find your reaction perfectly appropriate." she flipped through the pieces of parchment on the clipboard. "I am a bit weary of your slaves behaviour and background – you do realise that he spent much of his childhood in an orphanage?"

No, Harry wasn't. "Yeah." He lied. After all, he was supposed to have read all those papers on Snape, telling all his private details. "What's that got to do with it?"

She sighed. "He and I glossed over it while you were gone. That particular orphanage he is from mainly houses magically-impaired children – very few wizard children are left without any relatives, or people willing to take them in. The environment is particularly hostile, and most of the children that come out of it are particularly bitter, and tend to make mistakes in their adult lives."

_Such as joining the Death Eaters, _he knew what she didn't say, but implied. Just the same, he asked her where she was going with this.

"I am simply reminding you that he is highly unstable, and not someone I would trust around a small child." She explained, patiently.

Harry didn't particularly think that he would hurt Teddy, but that was okay, either way. "There's zero interaction between them. And I keep a sharp eye on both of them – really, they are never alone together. I know Severus well enough to trust that he won't hurt Teddy, but I'm careful to keep them separate when alone, anyway."

Of course, even though that was true, it wasn't for the reasons Ms. Fields was being led to believe – Harry kept them separated because Teddy wouldn't be able to help Snape in a panic attack, a panic attack that he'd likely cause by screaming too loudly or by toddling up to him and touching him. Snape wouldn't be able to help Teddy, either, like if Teddy began to choke or something... no, the two of them together and alone was a recipe for disaster.

She nodded. "Since you have convinced me that you really do care for Theodore, and because if I didn't approve Harry Potter, my boss would have my head, I am going to approve you."

His sinking heart stopped – stopped sinking, and stopped beating. "Approved?"

"Yes, but not without reminding you that it could take several days for the department to officially approve of it." She reminded him. "Also, Wizarding Family Services could stop by at any time for a surprise visit and inspection. Personally, I would recommend selling the slave and buying another – it doesn't seem that this one will be any use to you, anyhow."

_It's not the point for him to be of any use for me. And besides, who'd take him if I don't? They'd probably send him to the equivalent of the glue factory. _He didn't know what that was, but it probably existed.

"I understand." He nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe this was the point of his life where things would start to look up. If he had Teddy now, that was kind of like having a real family. And Severus, he didn't know what to do with yet, he was so confused... but he'd figure something out. He always did.

_**-**_

**-**

**-**

**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Forty: **_**The Burrow**_


	40. The Burrow

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's _Harry Potter_ series. Thanks! **

* * *

**Chapter Forty**

"**The Burrow"**

* * *

Severus bowed his head low as his master looked him over. His master had gone through a lot that day – Severus hoped that Master was finally done grooming him. All the grooming was making him worried – why would Master shave his head, rather than keep the hair to pull, like most of Severus' previous owners had? Why had he put him in yet another bath (assuming it was not to torture him), but to make him clean? Severus was a man of logic, and so far, he was not pleased with the way things were adding up, because they did not make sense. It was all becoming confused, was what it was.

"Okay, Severus, before we go, let me remind of of a few things," Master picked up young Master Teddy in his arms. "There aren't going to be many people there – just Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermione, and us. They might be really excited to see you, but I'll try to keep them quiet so that they don't scare you."

Why would they scare him? Assuming that they were not in on whatever Master had planned, they would be fine. The only issues he had with seeing them was that seeing their faces would most certainly trigger memories of his past life, though not their fault. No, it was always Severus' fault. Like it had been that afternoon, when he spoke of it to Mistress Fields.

Memories of Master Malfoy ran through his mind, and it took everything in Severus not to cry out just thinking of him. It had gotten to the point of wondering of that man was just a figment of his imagination, until he saw the man from his nightmares standing right in front of him.

"Severus?" Master's voice interrupted. "Is something wrong?"

"No, sir." He replied. Nothing was wrong.

Master nodded. "Well, um, you're going to have to stand up to Floo – I don't think that you can do it on your hands and knees. Well, you could try, but you might end up in the wrong country or something." He laughed a nervous laugh. "I thought we were going to have to fly, but Mr. Weasley sent us a bit of powder to use – I'm going to have to buy some really soon. Like, tomorrow 'soon'."

_The Floo, _Severus wearily eyed the fireplace. He remembered the Floo – a Floo was a fireplace that you stepped in, that took you places. Floos did not burn unless you stood in them for too long – this he knew, but that did not keep the thoughts of pain, screams, maniac laughter, and his own burning flesh out of his mind.

"Severus?" Master tried again, his voice soft – Severus wondered what he was trying to manipulate. "Is there something wrong with the Floo?"

Was there? Severus eyed that particular Floo. He had never seen anyone use it before, so how would he know? If there was something wrong with it, though, he could never let Master or young Master Teddy use it – his job as a slave, despite the treatment he got from his owners – was to protect his owners, even at the cost of his life.

"I do not know, sir." He went with the safest answer. Not knowing might get him slapped, but it was better than a wrong answer.

Master was silent for a moment. "Are you afraid of the Floo?"

Severus did not mind being a slave. It was his life, and one that he could no longer imagine not having (not that he dared imagine it). The one thing that he hated about it was always have to tell his master the truth – always, unless given leave not to by his master, he had to tell _everyone_ above him the truth. It was respectful.

"Yes, sir." He admitted to his master, not looking forward to the treatment that would certainly follow the revelation.

But Master just nodded. "More afraid than flying?"

Master had not thrown him off before – Severus had no reason to believe that Master would throw him off now. "Yes, sir." He admitted.

Master just nodded, then, "So we'll fly to the Weasleys. Go upstairs to my room and get my scarf and hat out of my drawer – I don't know what drawer – the scarf and hat are yellow and red striped."

"Yes, sir." Severus nodded, getting to his feet and going for the stairs. He wondered what changed his master's mind about Flooing. Certainly it had nothing do with Severus' fear of it. It did not make _sense_. Why wouldn't his master want Severus to get burned in the Floo? Even if it wasn't about punishment, how would Severus getting burnt effect his master? And if it didn't, why would his master care? He was not a good and kind master, like Master Weston.

_Perhaps he means for me to travel at the same time as himself, _he realised, stepping into his master's room and making his way over to the chest of drawers. _If I am here to become better trained, then of course he would not trust me to Floo on my own._

He located the hat and scarf, and hurried back down the stairs, ashamed that he was such a poor slave that his master could not trust him to Floo on his own, but grateful that his master decided to spare him the pain of getting burnt.

* * *

It was easily a Kodak moment, seeing Severus Snape dressed in Gryffindor gear. All he needed now was Harry's mittens, but they would likely not fit Severus' hands.

In a way, Harry felt bad that Severus put on the hat and scarf without resignation. It was as if he did not even notice the house colours. To many people, wearing other house colours might not seem like such a big deal, but the Hogwarts alumni understood. To a Hufflepuff, wearing green and silver was just as bad as a Gryffindor wearing black and yellow. It was simply _wrong_, and yet, as Severus obeyed Harry when Harry asked him to put on the gear, Severus acted as if he had never heard of the Hogwarts Four in his life.

Flying with Teddy could be fun when you were flying for leisure – Harry had done it all the time before Teddy's grandmother died. But it was not fun when you were actually trying to get somewhere, because you had to be high off the ground, and you were just about paranoid that the baby would fall, despite how many protections you put on him. Couple that with a terrified person gripping the back of the broomstick, and it was one long trip to the Weasleys – especially when you earlier thought that you could get there in just a moment's time, and could be enjoying Yorkshire Pudding with gravy by now.

"Harry!" Hermione rushed to the back door to give Harry a hug. "Where have you been! We thought you were going to Floo!"

He dodged her, picking out one of her bushy hairs out of his mouth. "Severus was afraid to Floo, so we decided to fly." He handed his turquoise-haired godson over the Mrs. Weasley, who rushed over to coo on the twice-orphaned baby. "Where's Ron?"

"Where's _Ron_?" Hermione sputtered. "Harry, where is _Professor_ _Snape_? You were supposed to bring him with you."

"I-I did." He motioned out the back door. "That's why we flew, instead of using the Floo. Hermione, weren't you listening to a word I was-"

She smacked the side of his head, caused his glasses to fall sideways. "Where is he _now_?"

Oh. He had not explained to her that part, yet. "I left him outside to give him a couple moments to himself – he was scared to come in, so I thought he might want a couple minutes to pull himself together." He forgot to remind him not to wonder too far off – damn.

Hermione nodded, and took his elbow, leading him away from Mrs. Weasley's hearing range in the otherwise empty kitchen. "And since you should know where Ronald's at, he is in the sitting room, trying to distract our guests."

"Guests?" He drew a blank on what she meant by that. "What do you mean, 'guests'?" It was just supposed to be Harry, Severus, Teddy, Ron, Hermione, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, wasn't it?

Hermione sighed. "So far, Percy, Professor McGonagall, Neville, and Luna have all shown up. I think George had the sense to stay home, but-"

"Wait." Harry shook his head. "What are _they_ doing here? I didn't tell them about Severus, or-"

"Harry, the entire _world_ knows that you have bought Professor Snape. It was printed in at least three papers this morning. Between Ron, you, and myself, I think that Mrs. Weasley Firecalled them." She told Harry in a low voice. "I don't know if she meant to _invite_ them but-"

"Then send them home!" Harry hissed. "I told Severus exactly who was supposed to be here, and that's exactly who he's expecting!"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Hermione put her hands on her hips. "I can't ask Mrs. Weasley to send them all home."

"Why can't you?" Harry's mind raced with thoughts on how to deal with the situation. He couldn't keep Severus outside – Severus had thrown up his food for lunch, and had to eat. And he'd get frostbite if he stayed outside for too long – even though it was six degrees outside, Severus was wearing nothing but robes and his scarf and hat. Harry hadn't dared tried to even put him in any shorts, yet... though that was a detail he doubted anyone needed to know.

No, Severus had to come in and the company out.

"She's Ron's mother!" Hermione said, as if that explained everything.

"So? I know that?"

"For goodness' sake, Harry. I cannot just ask her to kick them out. I am dating her son!"

"Well, I'm not." He pushed past Hermione, intending to tell Mrs. Weasley exactly what he thought of everyone being there.

"Harry," Hermione grabbed his wrist, "don't be rude. I know it's probably not good for him to see all of us at once, but... maybe he'll surprise us. You can always leave if it becomes too much. Everyone will understand." she paused. "You know how Mrs. Weasley has been since after the War."

Harry hesitated, before glancing at Mrs. Weasley, who was waving her wand with one hand and balancing Teddy in her hip with the other. Hermione did have a point – ever since the end of the War (or the death of Fred), Mrs. Weasley had been a little bit more... intense when it came to having company. She welcomed it, enjoyed it... entertaining became just about her favourite thing. While it seemed kind of selfish to have company over when someone who was so... disturbed was coming, Mrs. Weasley surely hadn't done it intentionally. She just wanted to celebrate because he came home.

He sighed. "Okay, but you make sure everyone in there knows that they don't know the man I'm bringing in there."

Hermione didn't blink an eyes at his admission of how changed Severus was. She just nodded. "I will."

* * *

Severus stared down at the dirt on the ground. It was rather muddy, as if it had had the misfortune of being rained on recently. Even though it was cold, the mud felt good between his bare toes.

"Severus." He heard a voice behind him.

He spun around and took a leap back, a cold dread filling his core. By the time he realised that it was his master who had startled him, it was too late to take back his actions.

He knelt on the ground. "Hello, Master." he tried to speak clearly, but the words were coming out rather jittery. "Please forgive me for my initial reaction. You may punish me in whatever way you deem fit."

Severus had always found those words rather foolish - of course his master was free to punish him how he saw fit! His master was free to do anything to Severus that he pleased. But it was someone higher than Severus that set the rule of what he should say, so who was he to judge?

The cool mud had the advantage of soothing the pain on his forehead, if only slightly. Only his master could truly rid him of any of the pain, but Severus was in no position to ask. The only person he had ever trusted that situation with was Master Weston.

His master sighed, impatiently. "Severus, get up."

Severus scrambled to his feet, doing his best not to trip over the voluminous black robes that draped his frame.

"Sir?" Severus asked after he rose, keeping his eyes low. He was a great deal taller than his master, and had to take the precautions not to look him in the eye.

"I think it'd be a good idea if you came in the house now." Master spoke slowly and carefully, enunciating each syllable, almost as if he was not sure of himself. But Severus knew better - his master was more such of himself than many people were of themselves. He would have to delve into his past life to support that, but kept himself from doing so.

"Shit! Look at your toes - they're turning blue! Shit - I forgot that you didn't have any shoes!"

Severus looked down at his toes, just like his master ordered. They were covered in mud, mostly, but he could see that parts of his feet were an icy blue. They did that a lot. He did not see what his master was so worked up over. He could always fix them if needed. That was what his past master had done.

"Come inside!" Master motioned to him, thankfully not touching him to pull him inside.

"Yes, sir." Severus quietly uttered, following his master through the back door of the Weasley home.

The warm air in the house warmed them as they walked in. Severus could smell the roast lamb and also the smell of some type of bread baking. The floors had been freshly scrubbed, it seemed.

He squirmed, his stomach doing nervous flips in his chest when he realised that the mud off of his feet would be ruining the floor. He was most certainly going to get a painful verbal, if not physical, beating for that.

The kitchen was empty of people, however. Severus could hear the voices of many people in the other room, and felt momentarily guilty for being the reason Master was in the kitchen, and not in there with his friends. No doubt his master would be bitter about that, and take it out on Severus.

"Severus," Master turned Severus' attention to him. "There was a bit of a misunderstanding between me and Mrs. Weasley. See, when she heard you were coming to visit, she just got so excited that she told all of our friends, so now... there are more people here than I told you that there was going to be."

The revelation made the put in Severus' stomach worse – he had been nervous about being in the presence of Masters and Mistress Weasley, and Mistress Granger, but now there were others? Strangers that he did not know? He closed his eyes as the room began to spin.

"Severus, it's okay – they're not going to hurt you." Master said. "You know these people – it's just Professor McGonagall, Percy Weasley, Neville – Neville works at Goldilocks Nursery in Diagon Ally now, and Luna – Professor McGonagall probably gave hive her permission to come with since she's... well, you know." Master took a deep breath. "But yeah, that's not _a lot _of people, is it?"

It was not Severus' concern that those people would hurt him – that was something that happened quite frequently, that he was used to. It was his concern that he didn't know at all what to expect, what there were planning to do to him. Why were they _excited_ to see him? _Him_? It did not make sense – and that was one of the things that Severus hated most.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "What will you have me do, sir?" He had obviously been taken there for a reason – perhaps for his retraining to begin. Or his master simply did not trust Severus to stay at his home alone.

Master also took a deep breath. "You're just going to stay and stay out of the main hype, you know? You're just going to stay away from everyone, for the most part." Master paused. "Okay, well, that's not exactly what I meant – it's just that everyone is probably all going to want to talk to you at once, and I don't think that you're ready for that."

Severus had been trying his best to be a good slave, but he was used to being told that he was not good enough. It still surprised him that his master was the one retraining him – his master didn't seem like the slave-training type. Master Mering had hurt Severus many times by this point, and the worst this Master had done was... it simply did not make sense, and it hurt Severus' head. It scared him.

"Yes, sir." He went with the safe answer.

His master exhaled deeply before nodding. "Just do whatever you can, okay? If you get too uncomfortable, tell me and we'll leave."

"Yes, sir." Of course, Severus would never do that. His master was to enjoy spending time with his friends, and it would not be right for Severus to take him away from that. Severus was a good slave.

* * *

Hermione was always there for Harry. She always had been, ever since Harry saved her from the troll in first-year. She was the brains of the group, while Ron had the loyalty and Harry the courage. He probably counted on her a little too much, sometimes. This time, though, he could not have done it without her.

When she opened the door to the sitting room, it immediately grew hushed and quiet. People were not milling about the room as Harry had imagined, but were seated on the various seats around the room (except for Teddy, who was sitting in the centre of the room playing with a tin train). Everything was calm and orderly - no Weasley could have accomplished that. It had to be the work of Hermione, he had no doubt.

"Hey everyone," he said as brightly as he could. He could feel the tension, and wasn't sure if it was coming from the people in front of him, or Severus standing behind him.

"Professor Snape!" Hermione stood up from the sofa, where she was seated between Ron and Percy, and smoothed her skirt.

Harry realised with a fair amount of unease that everyone in the room was not staring at him, but the man behind him. He was also pretty sure that Severus had his eyes to the floor, and was shaking as if though he thought someone was about to throw him from an aeroplane without a parachute.

He turned to face Severus - how did he know? He wanted to grab Severus' sleeve to lead Severus over to the sofa, but had learned his lesson about touching him. So instead, he simply said, "so, where can I sit?" and was found a place between the arm of the sofa, and Ron.

"Here, you can sit here, Severus." Mr. Weasley got up and pulled out his wand to lengthen the sofa, the way he often did when the Weasleys had company.

Severus did not respond from the place he had knelt inside the doorway. He did, however, look up to see Mr. Weasley withdrew his wand, and quickly closed his eyes, burying his face into his knees.

Harry sighed, almost wishing Hermione wasn't so good at what she did - everyone in the room had gone completely silent, and were all staring at Severus - Harry knew that it had little with the mud all over his forehead.

"It's okay, Mr. Weasley - thanks, but no thanks. Severus won't be wanting to sit on the sofa." Severus either stood or sat on the floor - there were no in-betweens. "Come on, Severus - come sit over here." He felt like he was calling a dog, and as Severus complied, felt many eyes on the two of them.

Severus settled at his feet, curled up in a kneeling position.

Harry tried to break up the awkward situation by coughing, and apparently, Luna took that as her cue to speak.

"I like frogs." Luna said in her ever dreamy tone of voice. "I like to sing to them as I walk by."

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. "That was random." Ron so keenly observed.

Luna smiled sweetly. "Yes, well, I didn't have anything to say about the situation at hand, so I just found my own way."

Luna's comment on frogs caused Hermione to ask after Trevor, Neville's toad, which reminded Mr. Weasley of the pet toad that he had had as a child. Eventually, the awkwardness and some of the staring eased up, and everyone in the room was laughing and telling stories, save Severus, until dinner.

"Here, Severus." Mrs. Weasley motioned to a seat at the foot of the table.

Severus had already sank to his knees at the right side of Harry's chair, which was at the end of one side of the table. He looked up at Harry, as if looking for instructions on what to do.

_Come on, Severus - you can make your own decisions!_ Harry hated being the one that had to make decisions for everyone - Teddy was making more decisions on his own than Severus was - a little too many, in fact, as he felt it was perfectly reasonable to scream as he was put in the Weasley high chair by Ron.

Harry just shrugged his shoulders at both Mr. Weasley and Severus. Mrs. Weasley had the sense to just leave the situation, and Severus took that as his cue to continue kneeling at Harry's feet... like he had at every meal they'd shared together so far.

"Um, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry began hesitantly as she began to livitate over platters and bowls of food. "Would it be okay if made Severus some porridge real quick?" All conversation at the table stopped. "He's kind of had trouble holding down much of anything."

"Do you, Professor?" Hermione leaned across the table.

There was a very long pause, before words finally escaped the slight curled frame. "Yes. Mistress Granger."

Harry watched at everyone at the table looked shocked at the first words that they had heard come out of Severus' mouth. And even though his expectations of Severus had been similar to theirs only a few days before, he couldn't help but wonder what they thought his response was going to be - Severus didn't hang around Harry's feet because he liked the smell.

Hermione was the first one to recover, easily because she had likely expected as much. "Oh, you don't have to call me that - 'Hermione' will work just fine." she stood and began to head for behind the kitchen counter. "I'll make your porridge. Would you like a glass of water while you wait?"

No answer. "Thanks, 'Mione." Harry didn't think that those words were good enough for how grateful he felt to her. "And if you could put some water in a bowl for him, it'd be great."

Hermione just nodded as she walked by, she whispered in his ear, "I'm going to see if I can't mix it with some nutritive Potion from the Potions cupboard."

A nutritive Potion? Now that she said that, Harry was reminded of many a lecture given in Potions, in Snape's boring monotone lecture voice.

_'Nutritive Potions are complex Potions brewed to do precisely what their name implies,'_ he could hear Snape drone. _'They are most commonly used by healers, but can also be used by incompetent individuals as yourselves. It is virtually impossible to overdose on a nutritive Potion and have it be lethal, however, there could be some unpleasant side effects, including, but not limited to, nausea, constipation – five points, Mr. Finnegan!'_

Harry shook his head, clearing the memory from it. He couldn't really remember much else about the Potion, but if it could be used by the most incompetent, that meant that out of all the members of SPEW at the table, one of them definitely had it on hand.

The atmosphere at the table did not grow tense again until Hermione brought back the bowl of water twenty whole seconds later.

"So, Professor McGonagall." Harry hoped to divert the stares on poor Severus' lapping like a dog, but drawing the table occupants into conversation. "I guess you heard that I won't be coming back to school."

McGonagall turned to Harry, a troubled expression on her face that no doubt stemmed from Severus' state., "Oh yes, I heard, Potter. I must remind you thought that most students formally withdraw – they just don't _leave_ in the middle of the school year."

Ron scoffed. "'Most' students, Professor. I think that we've already established that he's not like most."

Harry didn't like the conversation being completely on him. He realised that, of course, the reason everyone was there was either because of him and/or Severus, but he was getting a strange feeling that some were there mainly to _see_ Severus, not to be with him. There was a difference.

"You still intend to apply for the Auror Programme, then?" She placed a forkful of the roast lamb into her mouth.

"Thanks, 'Mione." Harry said again as she came into the room, putting a hot bowl of porridge in front of Severus, who jumped back as if terrified when she bent down near him.

He cleared his throat. "I really want to. I mean, the only thing I've ever wanted to do is go into the Auror programme, Well, I mean, I thought about Professional Quidditch, but they'd probably just let me and Ron in because we are who we are, and that wouldn't be fun."

"And we couldn't play Professional Quidditch when we get old." Ron shoved a large bit of Yorkshire Pudding, drenched with gravy, in his mouth. "I mean, most Keepers go out when they're about seventy, and Seekers... what, 120? 130? Not old."

Harry glanced down at Severus, who was silently eating his porridge, before turning his attention to what Percy was saying.

"...salary would sustain you through the rest of your life." Percy explained. "If budgeted wisely, one could live on a five-year Professional Quidditch salary for the rest of their life." He took a very neat bite of his vegetable. "And then, you would have to look into the odds of actually getting in, Ron. I have no doubt that Harry could get in based on his name and talent, but you on the other hand..."

"Shut it, Pinhead." Ron muttered.

Severus was probably not making his eating any easier by eating like a dog. Maybe the next step would be trying to get him to eat like a human. That was more important than getting him to sleep in bed, and sit in chairs, and getting him to stop wetting the bed, as he had discovered Severus had done in his sleep the night before, and in his nap.

"What?" He jerked his head and looked around the room, trying to figure out who spoke to him.

"I asked how the meeting with W.F.S went this morning." Mrs. Weasley placed some more potatoes on Teddy's tray.

"Uh... was that this morning?" It seemed like a week ago. Since Wizarding Family Services left, he had been left helpless in five of Severus' debilitating panic attacks, took three things out of Teddy's mouth that weren't supposed to be in there, changed countless amounts of Teddy's nappies – and had to clean them, along with Severus' frock, which he was going to keep just in case, until he got Severus more clothes... in fact, the only peaceful moment he had gotten was when Severus took a nap, the same time Teddy did, right after Wizarding Family Services left.

"It went good." Harry recovered from his initial response quickly. "Except..." He didn't want to sat the name when Severus was doing so well. "Except a big ferret interrupted the whole thing."

Ron's jaw dropped open. "Lucius Malfoy come by?"

Harry knew, despite popular belief, that Ron was an intelligent bloke, but even then, sometimes Harry wondered about him.

Harry glanced down at Severus, who was noticeably shakier than he had been only moments earlier, no doubt at hearing the name 'Lucius Malfoy'.

Mr. Weasley leaned forward. "What did he want?" He asked, his face lined with concern.

"I'm not sure. He didn't say." Harry tried to explain, all while keeping an eye on Severus. "I'm pretty sure he was trying to sabotage the interview."

"But how would he know about that?" Harry could practically see the gears turning in Hermione's head. "The Prophet doesn't publish potential adoptions, only ones that have been approved."

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "Lucius Malfoy has always had a way of manoeuvring – I remember when he first came to Hogwarts even, he smelled of trouble."

"Severus." Percy glanced down at Severus. "How would a former Death eater gain access to Ministry records?"

It started out as a cough. "Severus, keep your head forward!" Harry cried out as Severus got up to sit on his knees, as the cough became more intense.

But it was too late – Severus threw up porridge all over his robes, and on the floor. The remains of the grey food dribbled down his chin, and down the front of his robes.

"I-I'm sorry, M-Master." Severus knelt down, his now face covered in mud and porridge. "Please forgive me, and punish me however you see fit."

The silence in the room was deafening. Harry knew everyone in the room was staring at them, without even looking at them.

And then Teddy began pitching another fit, deciding that it was the ideal time to scream his head off, since apparently the silence was too much for him.

"I think we'd better go." Harry said, weakly, standing to his feet, doing his best to step over a shaking Severus, who was still bowing, waiting for a response.

"Oh, you don't have to, dear." Mrs. Weasley said. "Severus can clean himself up, and I'll calm the baby."

The woman really did have no idea. "Severus can't clean himself up." Harry said, tiredly. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, everybody, but it's Teddy's bedtime – Severus' too, and he needs a bath. We'll try it again some other time. It's just too much too soon right now." Too soon for all of those people to be around Severus. Things would have been so much calmer had it just been the people Harry had originally specified. Severus might have opened up a bit in conversation with those he didn't see as his master. But _ten_ people all at once was a little much. Six - the original four planned, plus Harry and Teddy - would have probably been too much.

"Here, put the hat and scarf back on, and meet me outside." Harry passed the items to Severus, who looked at them hesitantly. "You're not in trouble, don't worry. It's just long flight home, and I've got to clean Teddy up a bit."

"It's not your fault." Harry assured an apologizing Ron as he toted a screaming Teddy to the sofa in the sitting room. "Go on and finish eating – you and Hermione can stop by in an hour or so, after I put them to bed." He realised that Severus was a grown adult who shouldn't need a bedtime, but he was just too exhausted to deal with him any more that day.

"It was the Pinhead's fault." Ron muttered. "If he had just ignored Snape and acted almost as if he wasn't there like Hermione said to, then..."

"I'm not mad, Ron. Really." He pulled Teddy's trousers back over his bum, and lifted the screaming baby back up. "Just tired. Your mum won't mind that we're skipping out on the rest of dinner?"

Ron shook his head. "Hermione and I won't stop by tonight... unless you need help. You need to sleep – you look terrible."

Harry felt terrible, and that was only on the outside. The guilt mounting up on top of him, about what he let happen to Severus, was worse than terrible.

"Write me this week." He hefted the nappy bag over his shoulder. "Tell me if Ravenclaw beats Slytherin."

Ron snorted. "They won't. You know they won't."

He wasn't sure. He was getting to a part in his life where he was wondering if _anything_ was impossible.

_**-**_

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

Chapter Forty-One: Help From a Friend


	41. Help From a Friend

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. I own the characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's _Harry Potter_ series. Thanks!**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-One**

**"Help From a Friend"**

* * *

Severus vomited again as the broom descended from the air. But as none of it landed on Master, or Master Teddy – just Severus' foot and hem of his robes. It was the least of his worries.

Master was going to be an Auror. That was what he had purchased Severus, to train as an Auror's slave. And then, once Master officially become an Auror, things would begin to get worse. The Aurors were the ones to take Severus to Master Mering's. Severus had heard stories told by the slaves at Henderson's – those owned by the richest and most influential were treated the worst. Severus had gotten lucky, to be treated so well by Master and Mistress Weston, as they had been rich and influential.

But Master... Master likely harboured much hatred and bitterness towards Severus. And he was not only rich and influential, but about to become more so. He was going to work for the magical law enforcement.

Severus had never been so terrified when owned by any of his masters before, or at least could not recall it. The shame he had felt being sold by Master Weston had outdone any other emotion at the time. He could not remember how he felt being sold to his past master, Master Müller – but the situation he was in now was the worst – it could only be described as terror.

Master went into the house, with Severus walking three feet behind him.

_He is going to nearly kill me, _Severus tried not to shake, but it was hard, because he was very cold from the flight, and afraid. _If you were to apologize now, he will only get angrier._

_You can do it, _he told himself. _You survived The Monster – he will not hurt you worse than The Monster did. Or as badly, perhaps._ The thought comforted Severus – The Monster had had help from The People to punish Severus, and Master did not. Unless he enlisted the help of his friends... the thought chilled Severus to the core. They all _had_ been staring at him...

"Neville!" Master nearly dropped the baby in surprise.

Severus got to his knees and bowed. He did not have the time to verbally greet Master Longbottom, who had been standing in the living room when they arrived, because Master spoke again.

"Severus, go to bed." He ordered, sharply.

An order. Severus could cope with orders better than anything.

"Yes, Master." He stood to his feet and bowed his head to both Master and Master Longbottom, before gratefully hurrying up the stairs and out of the room. Master Longbottom likely was even more angry towards him than Master was.

* * *

Harry was plagued with guilt for speaking so sharply to Severus = and ordering him around, damn it – but it didn't last long.

"What are you doing here?" He placed Teddy in the playpen, refilling his sippy cup with his wand. "Who let you in?"

"Let me... well, I used the Floo." Neville said, uncertainly.

"Oh, of course – why do we ever use doors around here?" Harry dimmed the lights and led Neville into the kitchen. Teddy could spend the first half of the night in his playpen. Pyjamas and his cot could wait until he woke up in a couple hours.

Neville awkwardly paused. "Harry.... is everything okay?"

_No, _Harry wanted to say. _I just made a huge mistake, and the funny thing is, I can't even tell you what that mistake is. It wasn't take in Teddy, or buying Severus... I should have let you buy Severus – you're the one who almost ended up in Hufflepuff. You're the epitome of patience and hard work. _But he didn't say anything.

Neville sighed, as he motioned to a basket on the table that he had apparently set there earlier. "It's leftovers – Ron's mum seems to be under the impression that you can't cook, so she sent some stuff over with me. Oh! And Hermione said that she would be sending nutritive Potions over, so you don't have to worry about that..." He scratched his nose. "I feel like you're mad."

Mad? No, Harry wasn't mad. At least not in the angry sense. He was starting to think that he was as little crazy mad for taking on both Severus and Teddy (yet what else could he do? He had to do what he did for both of them)... but was he angry? Only at Percy for asking such a dumb question, setting Severus off like that.

"I'm not mad." Harry suddenly realised how tired he was. "I've just... I don't know, Neville."

Neville took a seat, and motioned for Harry to take one, which occurred to him was a really good idea.

"Professor Snape has changed a lot." Neville quietly observed.

"Yeah." Harry agreed, butting his head in his hands. He had changed – a lot. He had changed to the point of Harry thinking of him as 'Severus' instead of 'Snape' – 'Snape' was now used for the pre-slave, mean, professor man only.

Neville was quiet for a moment. "I knew he'd changed, but I thought he might be meaner, or maybe a little quieter. Not this."

Harry laughed bitterly. "Oh, he's quieter all right. I'm pretty sure the only vocabulary he has now is 'yes,' sir', and 'master'." He said the last work with every ounce of hatred in him. Voldemort had been called 'Master' – did that make Harry any better than him? Regardless of their reasoning, they both ended up being called the same thing, by the same man, even. Only it was more terrible in Harry's case, because the 'master' he got from Severus was completely genuine, whilst the 'master' Voldemort had gotten was likely only an act.

Neville was quiet for a long time, but Harry had not shared a room with him for six years to think that that meant that Neville didn't know what to say - he was just worried about how to plunge into what he knew he needed to say.

"Go on, tell me. Tell me I should have left Severus where I found him. God knows you won't be alone in thinking that."

"I wasn't thinking that." Neville said, quietly. "I was just thinking that you're always trying so hard to be the hero. And not in a bad way," Neville hurried to add. "You don't like being the centre of attention, I don't think. I think you just feel a need to help people, you know?"

"You been talking to Hermione?" Harry said, crossly.

Neville jumped at the sharpness of Harry's tone. "N-No. I mean, yes, I have, but not about you. Well, I mean, not about that. Why?"

Harry sighed. "She has said to me, several times, I might add, that I have a 'saving people' thing." And he didn't, really. He just did what he had to do. Ginny was down in the Chamber of Secrets, and no one else was going to help her in time, so he did what he had to do. No one else could kill Voldemort, so he did what he had to do. No one else was going to devote the time and interest – or had the money – that went into helping Severus onto the road to recovery, so Harry had to do it. Teddy... he wanted Teddy to be with him, so that was different.

"Oh." Was all Neville needed to say. "Taking care of Professor Snape is going to be a lot of hard work, isn't it?"

It already was. Even if Harry didn't have Teddy around, Harry would be up in the night due to screams. He'd still be cleaning up big messes in the kitchen. He'd still have to give baths – he'd still be just as tired.

_Shit_, Harry realised. _I sent Severus upstairs without a bath. The whole room will be covered in mud and throw up and... _he'd take care of it in the morning – he'd already sent Severus up to bed. Waking Severus up now would be mean – and trivial – since he would probably have to take a bath the next day, anyway, if he wet the bed again. Or the floor, to be more accurate.

"Well, remember when the War first ended" Neville continued. "Everyone was so messed up – lots of people started going to therapy to get everything sorted out."

Harry knew all about that. He hadn't gone for any therapy – Wizarding therapists usually recommended Obliviation from certain events, or Potions to numb the pain and sadness– Harry wanted none of that. It would make him feel as if Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, his parents, all died in vain.

"I don't need a therapist." He said, flatly.

Neville rolled his eyes. "Not _you_, but Hermione and I were talking after you left and realised something – Professor Snape sees himself as owned by you. He's going to take everything you do or say with a block of salt."

Sometimes, Neville said odd things. "The phrase is 'a grain of salt', Neville."

"I know." Neville said, seriously. "And he's going to be taking it with a whole block of salt."

In Harry's exhausted mind, that actually made a little sense. If Severus was brainwashed into thinking he was a slave, he'd probably be weary of anything Harry had to say to him, whether it was 'good night' or 'you're not in trouble'.

"So there are some people out there who can, I dunno, work between the two of you. Obviously, it'd have to be someone who saw slaves, which I reckon is pretty rare. But there's gotta be someone out there – I hear Marietta Edgecombe is really nice."

No way was Harry taking Severus to Marietta Edgecombe. He didn't care if she was the best therapist in the world – he just didn't like her. "No ex-students." He said, firmly.

Neville took in a sharp breath. "Do you know how hard that's going to be? Snape has been a teacher since the beginning of time!"

"Actually, since 1981." Harry remembered glancing at one of Severus' many papers.

Neville exhaled, blowing his fringe up. "You can't take him to a Muggle therapist, or you'd have to skip over all the important details when talking to them, and that'd just be wasting your time."

The situation was very frustrating. "Severus wouldn't talk to a therapist, anyway. You should have seen him earlier, around the lady from Wizarding Family Services and Lucius Malfoy."

He spent the next few minutes explaining to Neville everything that had happened that afternoon. "And on top of everything that's going on, I promised Ginny forever ago that I'd get Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban one of these day. Bur I'm sure as hell not going to be able to get it done right now."

"Ginny will understand." Neville knew Ginny well as they were both in Gryffindor, with mutual friends – not to mention SPEW and the DA. "She's got a lot on her mind right now, anyway, what with-" He shut his mouth abruptly, clapping his hand over his mouth.

"What with what?" Harry asked, curiously.

"Nothing." Neville said, quickly. "Just, you know – the N.E.W.T.s and stuff."

Oh, of course. The N.E.W.T.s lived up to their name – they were nasty.

"I'm going to go visit mum and dad tomorrow." Neville stood from the table. "I will ask around, and see if anyone knows of a therapist Snape could see."

"Tell them 'hi' for me."

"I will." Neville promised – Harry had gone with Neville several times to see his parents – it had been very sad and depressing, and made Harry _grateful_ that his parents were dead.

"Oh!" Harry suddenly realised as Neville turned to the kitchen fireplace. "There's no powder – you're going to have to Disapparate."

Neville nodded, his face already tuning slightly green at the thought. He was not good at Apparating, it was common knowledge. Neville avoided it whenever possible.

"You have wards set up?" Neville shuffled to the front door – quietly as to not disturb Teddy.

"Yeah, but only incoming. You can Disapparate from wherever you'd like. I probably should ward the Floo, too." Not that Apparating wards did much good – bastards like Lucius Malfoy would just walk.

Neville chuckled. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night." He shut the door behind Neville and sighed deeply. The house was quiet, and the room dark. It seemed like the only time he had to actually _think_, so regardless of how tired he was, that was what he chose to do. And besides, it was his only chance to shower – both Severus and Teddy would be awake at the crack of dawn, ready to start the day over again. And neither one of them could be unsupervised for a minute.

_A therapist,_ he mused as he went upstairs to the to the Master bedroom. _If Hermione thinks it's a good idea... _the Road to Recovery_ said that it was, and it was written by a doctor._

But he didn't know if Severus was even ready for that, yet. He didn't know anything _at all_

_-_

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Forty-Two: An _Appointment in London_**

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A/N: Thanks for all of your reviews, everyone! I really appreciate the nice, and constructive comments.


	42. An Appointment in Devon

**Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. I own the characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's _Harry Potter_ series. Thanks!**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Two  
"An Appointment in ****Devon****"**

* * *

The sun had risen hours ago, and yet, Severus was still tired. He was not sure what made it so – he did not do anything to exert himself.

Every morning was essentially the same – Severus would wake, and wait to leave the room he slept in until Master came to get him, just as Master had instructed. Then he knelt beside his master's chair whilst Master ate his cereal – Muggle cold cereal – as Severus drank the water and Potion mixed in a bowl for him. It was a nutritive Potion, he knew, He still wondered why his master fed him that Potion, rather than give him food – it was much more expensive than food was. Perhaps it was a punishment, to keep him on the Potion that supplied necessary nutrients, for the rest of his life, to make a food a luxury he was rarely given. The ramifications were not something he would understand without asking questions, and questions were something he was not to ask, save on rare occasions

Then, the mornings had young Master Teddy playing on the floor, usually with Master. Then lunch, where Severus was usually rewarded with a few bites of porridge, for sitting quietly, Severus assumed. Then the baby was in his playpen, whilst Master talked to Severus – or just talked. Severus occasionally responded with 'yes, sir', hoping that he did not say it too often to irritate his master. Master usually got bored of that, anyhow, and began to read, or write letters – he wrote a lot of letters.

But that morning, things had gone a little differently, which messed up the system for the rest of the day. Breakfast had been normal, except that Master had not eaten – he had instead rushed around with young Master Teddy's nappy bag, muttering to himself. Soon, a cooing Mistress Weasley had come through the Floo, and after spending much time bothering Severus so, left, with the nappy bag and Master Teddy in her arms.

It was just Master and Severus left, alone in Master's home. Who knew when – or if – Master Teddy was coming back? It was a bad sign.

He tried to contend himself with the knowledge that whatever happened would happen, and that it was utterly out of his control. That always worked, and this time was no exception... except the anxiety that filled him refused to be stopped. He would not be so worried, so afraid, if his master just told him what to do, what to think, what would happen... but no. It was all left on Severus' shoulders, to guess and to suppose.

'_Don't worry,' _Master's words, repeated numerous times, came flooding back to him. '_Don't worry.' 'There's nothing to worry over.' 'Don't worry.' 'There's no need to be afraid.'_

If Master said not to worry, he was not to worry. If Master said there was nothing to be worried over, there was nothing to be worried over. Severus wished he could accept these things as truth, and let them calm him, as they were obviously meant to do... but he couldn't, try as he might. It pained him that he could not – in the literal sense, as his forehead was in constant pain. But trusting someone you had little reason to trust was a hard thing. Even though your life was in that person's hands, and could be ended with a mere 'cut your throat open', it did not mean you trusted them automatically. Obedience and trust were two separate things, as were a desire to be a most helpful servant, and trust. Slaves were not required, as a rule, to trust their master, though – just to respect and obey. He could do that. He only risked getting himself into trouble when he did not obey the order to trust. It was all so very confusing, that he did his best not to think of it.

That explained, to a degree, how he found himself kneeling on the floor next to the sofa, staring at his knees, listening to his master's words quite eagerly, hoping – praying – that nothing too terrible would take place.

_Though there is always the Occlumency, _he remembered, taking care to keep his shields up high. He had been doing a much better job of never letting his shields down, though it did wear him out.

"So – apparently – that's normal." Master said, letting out a huge breath as he did so. "I think you'd be pretty rare, to go straight back to the way you were before you were a slave."

Severus openly winced at those words. He supposed Master was glad that Severus had been hurt so, so that Severus did not act the way he did before he was a slave. Truth be told though, Severus was still apalled at his behaviour, and was still waiting for his master to punish him for it. He was so terribly ashamed of it all. It made him even moreso to know that his master remembered it – and referenced it! Merlin, he had been hoping he wouldn't have.

"I apologize for that, sir." He bowed his head to the ground, his nose smashing against the carpet that smelled a tad musty. "Please punish me in whtever way you see fit."

"For... for being different now?" His master said, confusion evident in his voice. "Sit up, Severus – it's okay. Like I said, it's perfectly normal. I'd be really worried if you weren't changed by it all – what you've been through is pretty unique, I'd say, and most people who go through smaller things come out barely functioning as a human. You... well, you're..."

Master did not finish the sentence, Severus noted as he raised his head back from the ground. He parted his legs more, so that his weight did not rest on his knees and calves so much – and the plus side of that would be that it was a much more submissive pose, which he could rarely go wrong doing.

Master squirmed noticeably. "So, yeah, don't apologise for that."

That was not what Severus was apologising for. "My behaviour, prior to my enslavement, sir, was unacceptable. I see that now, and am deeply ashamed. Please, will you-"

"Severus?" Master's voice had gone suddenly quiet, despite his voice echoing off the walls of the sitting room.

Severus looked up towards his master's face, careful to avoid direct eye contact. His master's eyes were serious behind his lenses. "Yes, master?" He replied, dutifully.

Master extended his arms, almost as if to reach for Severus. Severus shut his eyes tightly, preparing for the touch, but it never came – when he opened his eyes, Master had his hands back in his own lap.

"Severus, don't ever ask to be punished for that, okay? You're ashamed of it, and you know what? I think in a lot of ways it's something to be ashamed of. You did a lot of nasty things to innocent children when I was at school, but you apologised for it. Knowing you, that had to take a lot of courage, and a lot of humility – it really means a lot that you apolgogised, and I accept it. There's no need for punishment."

Severus blinked. There was no need to be punished for it? When a slave did something wrong, they needed to be punished for it! Otherwise... otherwise...

_Otherwise what? _He asked himself. _This situation is unlike others – you will never behave in the manner towards anyone again. Being a slave changes that._

"Yes, sir." Severus said, looking down at his lap. "I apologise for asking." He hesitated, before continuing. "Please punish me in-"

He was interrupted by master's chuckles. "Forget about it. Anyway," his voice grew serious, "the reason Mrs. Weasley came and got Teddy today is because of the things your mind has done. See, we're going to work on you getting better and-"

Master may have continued beyond those words, but Severus did not hear them. He could not hear anything past the words 'getting better'. He knew those words. Master had said them before, and they had haunted Severus every moment since then.

Getting better? He had thought that that meant in his training, to improve as a slave. Merlin knew he needed it – he was consistently pulling back when touched, and getting his in master's way... but that was not what his master meant? Getting better meant... it meant what?

"Severus?" His name, coming from his master's lips, made him realise he was still being spoken to.

He felt himself flush, and he once again bowed at his master's feet. "Forgive me, sir. I was listening for a time, but I-"

"It's fine. Is there something you don't understand?" Master checked his wristwatch. "We're kind of running low on time."

Low on time? Whatever did that mean? Was there a spell to be performed at a certain time, or a spell that would wear off at a certain time? Did that spell act as a catalyst to Severus' getting better... whatever that meant?

"Yes, sir." Severus admitted. "There is something I do not-"

He was interrupted by a loud knock on the door, which startled him into falling on his rear in quite an ungraceful heap, something which would not impress his master.

His master, however, did not seem to take notice, and stood. "Shit. Look, I'm going to get the door, okay? It's just a... just a friend. A good person, that's not going to hurt you, okay?"

A friend of master's was to be treated with more repsect than the average wizard. Severus nodded. "Yes, sir."

Severus listened keenly as Master walked over to the hall and opened the door. He could not see what went on from where he sat in the sitting room, but he could hear. Sometimes, that was all one needed.

"Hi." He heard his master say in a friendly voice.

"You must be Harry." Severus heard a woman's voice. It was a woman. Master was bringing in a woman.

That could mean many things – she could be a girlfriend of Master's, for one thing. That would explain why Master had taken care to make sure young Master Teddy was out of the house. She could also be someone there for purposes ill... but Master had said that the person would not hurt him.

_How does he define 'hurt'? _Severus wondered. That could be crucial to her purposes here.

"Come in." Severus heard the front door shut, and their footsteps coming towards him. He could make out the woman's heels tapping against the floor in the hall.

He did not get a chance to look at her, though. Like a good slave, as he was attempting to be, he knelt his head to the ground before they came into the room. He heard the footsteps transfer to the carpet, which caused their noise to cease.

"Severus," Master said, causing Severus to look up. "This is Dr. Brown. She's going to help us help you. Dr. Brown, this is Severus, my, um..." Master did not finish the introduction – Severus wondered why.

The woman appeared to be quite normal. Her brown hair was neatly pulled back, and her make-up was natural and even – that was nearly always a good sign, for Severus had not had very many bad experiences as a slave with women such as that. Also, her clothes were neat and put-together, not clothes one would wear to train and punish. That made her a very rare woman to be in Severus' presence, indeed.

He lowered his head, though not to the floor this time. "Mistress Brown." A good slave always forwent any titles such as 'doctor' or 'professor' and just went for the typical 'master' or 'mistress'. It was relieving, actually, to not have to worry about that sort of thing.

"Hello, Severus." The woman smiled. Her teeth were white, but slightly crooked – Severus wondered if that was any sort of attribute to her personality. He looked very hard for these sorts of things. Any hints at all were better than none.

"You can sit down." Master motioned to the sofa. "On the sofa, and there's this armchair over here... I could conjure something else, if you'd like. Would you like some tea?"

"This will be fine." Mistress Brown sat on the armchair offered. "And some tea would be wonderful, thanks."

Severus watched his master go to the kitchen, before turning his attention back to his knees. The silence was deafening, and knowing that the woman was looking at him only made it awkward.

"So, how are you?" Mistress Brown asked, pleasantly.

How was _he_? He did not understand that question. How should it matter how _he_ was? "I am well, miss." He said, quietly, not daring to look up at her.

"That's good." she said. "Do you mind if I call you 'Severus'? I find that being on first-name basis with a person is really the best way to go in terms of-"

Master chose then to walk into the room with a tray, with two cups of tea on it and a small bowl, presumably filled with water for Severus. He handed Mistress Brown the teacup, and sat the bowl on the floor near Severus, before sitting the tray down on the coffee table. "It's charmed." He said, quietly. "So that it tastes like whatever the amount of sugar you want in it is in there. There's not really any sugar – it's what a lot of wizards and witches do when they're dieting. Not that you need to diet. I just thought it'd be easier than trying to figure out exactly how much sugar you like, and-"

"That is quite all right." She said. "As I was saying... Severus?"

On what she called him? He didn't know what she could call him, aside from 'Severus' or just 'slave'. Some called him 'Snape' – it had been a great while since he had been called that regularly, though sometimes Master did call him that. But he'd no preference, and even if he did, why should it matter?

"No, miss." He said, quietly. "'Severus' is fine."

"Good." She took a sip of her tea before passing over a folder to Master. "Harry, I'm going to need you to fill this out. If you can't figure something out, that's fine. You're not going to be able to fill it all out, I imagine."

Severus glanced over at the bowl of water. His throat was suddenly very parched, but it would be rude to partake of the water in front of Master's guest. Slaves were to indulge themselves in private, and in private only.

"Calling me 'Dr. Brown', or even 'Mistress Brown' is fine if that's what you're most comfortable with, but my name is Christine, if you prefer that."

_Christine. _A chill ran up Severus' spine. He knew that name. Mistress' name was Christina. Mistress Weston, that was. Christina was essentially the same name as Christine, was it not?

He glanced over at his master, who was not filling out the crisp white pieces of Muggle paper, but watching him carefully. He felt as if he were on display, on auction, once again.

"Yes, Mistress Brown." He kept his eyes to the ground. Surely she realised how inappropriate her behaviour was? A slave could never call anyone above him by her first name.

She cleared her throat. "I went to university at UCL. I am thirty-five, and unmarried. In my spare time, I enjoy hiking and playing with my dog." She looked intently at Severus. "I normally start off first time meetings with introductions – it helps everyone feel more comfortable if they know each other."

Severus simply ignored her comments and stares, and looked intently at his knees. Surely that comment was meant for master and not him. He was not to speak unless spoken to, and when he was not sure, he chose not to speak – it was the safest.

"Oh, um, my name is Harry." Master fidgeted in his chair – Severus could hear him shifting around behind him. "I'm, um, eighteen, and I'm um, not married, either. I kind of quit school a little bit ago, but I'm still going to take my N.E.W.T.s. When I'm not, um, busy, you know, I like to play Quidditch."

"Do you play on any sort of team?" Mistress Brown asked pleasantly.

Severus did not understand why Master was talking to the woman about Quidditch – he squirmed before he could stop himself, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. It was one of his bad habits that he could not quell, try as he might – he always wanted to know everything.

Master had spoken of getting better. He had not had the chance to explain at all what he meant by that, but Severus was now sure that Master was not referencing Severus' behaviour as a slave. That was relieving to him, in a way – to know that he was still a good slave took a lot of pressure off. He knew he still had to work harder to get back at the point he once was – when had he let himself slide? But it was nice to know that he was not as far off as he had thought.

His mind was not right, Master had explained. It was normal for a slave, but not for a free person. Severus did not know his mind worked any differently than a free person's, but surely that was a good thing. Unless Severus' mind worked in a way that a slave's didn't quite, and Master was trying to fix that... it was very confusing, and as much as Severus tried to sort out the man's intentions, he could not.

But as Master Mering had said, the owners were always right, and this master was no exception. There really was no need to sort out his intentions.

"So, what about you, Severus?" Mistress Brown broke Severus' train of thought once she said his name.

Oh, Merlin. What an embarrassment he was to his master.

He knelt his head to the ground. He could feel his heart pounding as his muscles instinctive tightened, bracing himself for a harsh blow. "Please forgive me, Mistress Brown – I did not hear your question. I will ask my master to punish me when time allows."

He held his breath in the long silence that followed. Severus could hear the birds loudly chirping outside, hear the clock ticking on the wall. But the silence was the loudest, and most frightening sound of all.

"Oh, it is all right, Severus.," Mistress Brown broke the silence. "Sometimes, people get distracted, and don't hear what others are saying. It's perfectly acceptable."

How was that possible? To get distracted and not listen to one's words was disrespectful, and a slave was not supposed to be anything but respectful. Those above him were always right, he knew, and it was a pity that he was not wise enough to understand their logic.

"Yes, Mistress Brown." He said, with every intent of asking for punishment when Mistress Brown left. Not that Master had ever punished him before, but surely he would, eventually. Severus had to ask, regardless of what his master chose to do.

"I asked you if you would take a turn telling Harry and myself about you."

Severus was one who did not easily express emotion on the outside, something that came in handy being a slave. It was likely the one think keeping him from dropping his mouth open with surprise.

"Me, Mistress?" He felt ashamed for asking, his forehead a result from questioning what was quite clearly an order. That established, he did not wait for her response before plunging into a dialogue about himself.

"I am owned by Harry Potter." He said, carefully, racking his mind for what might be considered relevant information. "I..." What was there to say? There was nothing else. No, there had to be... but what?

"Do you have a favourite colour?" Mistress Brown prodded.

He could not remember. That was not something he could ever remember considering. If he took down his Occlumency shields, he might, but he was not going to do that. "No, Mistress." He admitted, uneasily. Perhaps that was not what she wanted to hear, but what else could he have said? He could not lie.

"I see." Her pen was still against the clipboard – his head and eyes were at the perfect height to see this. "Do you do that often?"

Do what often? How he wished that she would explain better! "I am afraid that I do not know of which you speak."

She clamped her hands together tightly in front of her. "This thing." she said.

Severus pulled his hands apart, that he hadn't even realised he had put together. There were dents in his skin from his fingernails, and even a bit of blood drawn. He had never noticed that he did that up until now.

"I do not know." His nervousness grew in his stomach, as he was well aware that his Master was looking down over his shoulder,likely angry at the damage Severus had done to himself.

"Would you like a band-aid?" She offered.

Severus looked up at his master, who shook his head. "Bad idea. He'll be fine." Master said.

Severus sensed some unspoken communications between the two, but it was not his business to know what they were saying. Instead, he chose to apologize to his master, who told him not to worry about it – an order Severus would do his best to follow.

"Here, why don't you try to figure this out? Harry said that you liked puzzles." Mistress Brown held up a small plastic cube of little multi-coloured cubes, seemingly connected, which she got out of her bag. She put it on the floor ad lightly kicked it with her foot, so that it went over to Severus without too much trouble – it made him wonder why she did not walk the two feet over to hand it to him.

"It's a Rubik's Cube." she explained. "The goal is to move the cubes around until each side is solid. It'll keep your hands busy. I hear that you're very intelligent – maybe you'll be able to figure it out. Merlin knows I never could."

Severus concentrated on the shape in front of him. Was this really about his hands, or something else? Perhaps it was to test his intelligence. Perhaps, for whatever reason, he needed to have a favourite colour, and the cube was supposed to help him decide (odder things had happened); Perhaps she simply wanted someone to solve it for her.

Regardless of her intent, 'why don't you' was never a suggestion – it was an order. And Severus would comply with the best of his abilities, such as they were.

* * *

Harry couldn't believe it – all the time spent trying to find a professional therapist, all the effort that went into Owling her, not to mention the cost of the hour they were spending, and she handed Severus a Rubik's Cube. Harry could have done that.

He shifted in his seat, watching Severus twist and turn the cube. "I haven't seen one of those in forever." Dudley had gotten one for one of his birthdays, and promptly threw it out an upstairs window.

"You said in one of your letters that he was a thinker – he needs something to keep his hands busy. It might help him not hurt himself on accident, right?" She looked towards Severus, but he was completely lost in his own world at that point.

Harry sighed. "He does that. All of a sudden, he'll be listening, and then he'll stop."

She just nodded. "Now, Harry, as you know, I am magically impaired – a squib, if you will. I don't know anything about slavery law. I was adopted as a toddler by the parents of a Muggle-Born, so it wasn't as if they had any slaves."

Harry nodded, noticing how Severus didn't seem to slow down in trying to figure out the puzzle. "Well, I don't know all the laws myself, but there are no rights, you know? When people say I own him, they're serious." his gut twisted as he explained. "The thing is is that he really takes it to heart – I mean, I could tell him to smother himself into unconsciousness in the carpet, and he wouldn't think twice. Not that I would ever do that." He felt disgust at the reality of that, but surprisingly, Dr. Brown didn't seem to bat an eye. He was just lucky Severus remained in that little world he got in, when he wouldn't hear a word anyone was saying, or Harry might discover one morning that Severus smothered himself in the carpet.

"And that behaviour is typical of one in his situation?" He noticed that it seemed like she carefully avoided using the word 'slave' – he wondered why, and if he should do it, too.

"Well, um, I've only met one, besides him." He confessed, beginning to fidget. "She was, I dunno... at peace with the situation, I guess." But the woman at the Weston's had been different. She hadn't been quaking in fear, even when she had done something that she knew was wrong. She didn't produce wild magic. She seemed almost pretty normal.

"And you do not believe that he is?"

That was not the trouble – Severus was perfectly at peace with the situation, it seemed. He seemed to be very settled into the fact that he was a slave. "Well, he is, too." He admitted.

"Then I do not see the problem." Dr. Brown looked over at Severus. "Obviously, he has some things to work through, but if you say that it doesn't directly correlate to being a slave-"

"It does!" Harry said, a little too loudly, causing Severus to jump, a flash of light protruding from his body. "You don't know what he was like before – he was proud, and brave, and wouldn't take orders – not even from Dumbledore and McGonagall, who were his bosses." He couldn't believe that he was thinking of SNAPE with nostalgia. "He was a very superior and snide, sarcastic, sneaky, snippy, Slytherin... Snape." He finished, lamely.

"You need to watch that alliteration." she wryly commented.

"Yeah." He looked down at his hands before looking up at her. "So, what's the plan."

"It depends." she responded. "What are you trying to achieve by putting him into therapy? Normally, I ask the patient himself that question, but as you've explained, this is an entirely different situation."

What was he trying to achieve? Wasn't that obvious? "Him getting back to normal." He responded.

Harry didn't like the look in her eyes as she responded. "Back to normal." she repeated. "You're referring to his pre-War self, I presume?"

At his nod, she sighed. "Have you realised that, whether we like it or not, he is a slave now, and that will never change? It is a bit unfair to ask some things of him, and to expect some things of him."

Harry had chosen her because he thought she'd be different, and not have all these predudices. "He's smarter than most normal people." He lashed out.

She nodded. "I never said he was not. But expecting him to become, for example, superior, like you said, is unfair, when it goes against what he is, and what he'll always be."

"I hope you realise that him being back to what he was may never be possible. Experiences change people, and after one had underwent terrible trauma, it is difficult for them to recover. And even if he does, he might be a person you do not recognize. To expect him to revert back to the person you describe may be unrealistic. Even if we _can _get him there, it will take years, It's something we must work for as a team."

His mind raced. Was she saying that Severus would be the way he currently was forever? How could they function like that for... for forever? Until... forever? Teddy would grow and mature, and that would lighten Harry's load some... but would he be feeding Severus like a dog, and be getting requests for punishment for the rest of his life?

"Team?" he asked, instead of the millions on questions on his mind. As absorbed as Severus seemed to be in the Rubik's Cube, and he didn't want to ask some of the questions in front of Severus.

She nodded. "From here on out, Severus, myself, and you form a team. Even if we cannot restore what once was we can hopefully get him on his way of functioning like a normal human being."

His words gave Harry a little hope, and as they talked on he increasingly became convinced of one thing – even if therapy didn't help, it couldn't hurt. Not much could hurt, actually.

Dr. Brown made no effort to draw Severus in on the conversation, which Harry guessed was on purpose – right now, everything that they were discussing some little things that on what Harry could do to make Severus' adjusting easier. She did, however, speak to him when the hour was up.

"It looks like you're making progress there, Severus.'' she got up from her chair and knelt on the floor in front of him, though still a good three feet away. "Do you enjoy trying to solve the puzzle?"

Harry was stretching his back when he heard her ask this, and turned to see Severus' response.

Severus held the Rubik's cube in his hand, and was staring down at it almost guiltily."Yes, Mistress."

"Well, why don't you hand it here, and I'll put it somewhere safe where no one can mess with it. You can continue to solve it during my next visit – your master and I are going to adjust our schedules so that maybe I can come twice a week." She did not bother to mention how she thought she should come nearly if not every day, and it was only how unrealistic that was for their situations stopping that from happening.

Harry appreciated how she didn't speak to him in an unnaturally high voice, or really slowly. She spoke to him like an equal – then again, that was probably easier to do when you weren't the one bathing, feeding, and cleaning messes up after him.

Severus did not hesitate to hand her the cube that he had laboured over for an hour, "Thank you, mistress." He said, his eyes still downcast.

Dr. Brown rose, and nodded to Harry. "I'll see you next week. My 5:30 on Tuesdays is moving to Dover in several weeks, so I will be able to come early then."

Harry nodded. He didn't know when they would be able to visit her office in London – knowing Severus, he would do all his bowing and kneeling in the Muggle waiting room. He would be noticeable enough in robes, bare feet, and a head that showed off the lack of Harry's shaving skills.

"Severus." Harry said, once he let Christine out the door and went back into the living room. "What's wrong?"

Severus was kneeling on the carpet, and shaking a bit. "I apologise for not listening as carefully as I should have when Mistress Brown addressed me. Please punish me in whatever way you see fit.

Harry stared. Once again, Harry realised the long haul that they were in for – as a team.

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**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Forty-Three: _Nightmarish_**

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**A/N:** I am very embarrassed over the long wait, and the "Appointment in London" bit. I posted that chapter when I was very tired, and hadn't paid attention. Thankfully, I am soon to go back and edit mistakes out of past chapters such as typos, so that will be fixed.

_Unwell_ will never be abandoned. I fully intend on finishing it. Will it be a two-year process, starting from when I began to the day I finish? I pray not. But I always finish each story I begin, and _Unwell_ is not any different. I thank you all for your continued interest and support!


	43. Nightmarish

**Chapter Forty-Three  
"Nightmarish"**

Severus dipped the rag into the soapy water and twisted it to wring out the excess water. The stairway was made of wood was unlike most of the floors in Master's house that were made of carpet. Earlier that morning, Master had made a comment on how dirty it was coming to be, and had sent Severus to clean it straight after breakfast.

It was the first chore Master had given to Severus. Yes, Master had ordered him about as Masters did for quite some time, but he had not instructed Severus to actually work for him. It was quite relieving to have that job to do – perhaps he was getting further in his training than he had earlier realised.

One thing that was certain – this owner was different than all the others Severus had had in the past. This master did not punish him at all, lest you count the burning on Severus's forehead. Every time Severus did something wrong, which was, admittedly, quite frequently, all Master had to say was "don't worry about it". That, of course, was not only an order that took the burden off Severus, but it also made him wonder… how was Severus supposed to be trained if not trough punishment? The burning on his head was only supposed to serve as a warning, a reminder of his transgressions, not the punishment alone.

He does not yell and punish like- Another thing having this Master required was one hundred percent Occlumency shields all the time. Even at Master Mering's, Severus had not had to avoid thinking of his past life almost altogether. He kept the Occlumency shields up only to avoids listening to conversations he knew he shouldn't be hearing, not to pass out when he most desperately needed to stay conscious , and to avoid thinking of his past life only when the situation presented itself.

But at his new master's, the opportunities to think about his past life presented themselves wherever he went. When he saw the light of the Floo glow green, the words 'Avada Kedavra', spoken in many overlapping voices (his own included) overwhelmed him. Master's bookshelf, which seemed cursed to fall over at just the slightest provocation, often spilled a book that seemed determined to bite Severus's ankle off – but Severus did not feel the pain. His mind was too preoccupied with images of a burly man that would not doubt strangle Severus if he got that chance… or images of a monster that Severus could remember chasing him down halls constantly for an entire school year. Whenever Master stepped into the room and Severus dared look at his face, he become overwhelmed with so many images that he could scarcely breathe.

"Severus?" Master walked into the sitting room. "You all right?"

Severus did not dare look at his master's face. Instead he knelt his head to the floor. "Yes, Master." He had to be all right. Were he less than all right, Master might find that as a reason to punish or sell him.

He let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding once Master returned to the kitchen to resume whatever it was he was doing.

That was why it was so important to keep the shields up – not only was it wrong to think about his past life, but the numbness he had grown to associate with it had disappeared, replaced with a torrent of emotions Severus knew himself not capable of dealing with.

There was little shame in saying how exhausted Harry was. There was also little point – the only person that'd hear him would be Severus, who would beg for punishment in a horribly twisted way, as if he were responsible. And he was, indirectly, but Severus didn't have to know that.

He was still reading "The Road To Recovery", and found that contrary to what he had been thinking when Hermione first gave it to him, it wasn't boring at all. In fact, a lot of the time, Harry wondered if the writer had skills in Divination, and had looked directly at Severus when writing – impossible, since the writer was a Muggle, but the author really did know his stuff.

Right now, he was learning all about triggers. Things that basically made Severus have panic attacks. Things that seemed out of the blue, but scared Severus to death. Like water… Harry had only managed to get Severus bathed a few times since finding him because whenever Severus confronted even the tiniest bit of water – sometimes, the water in his bowl – he started shaking and almost stopped breathing. While Severus had always been noticeably pale to Harry, how he paled when confronted with water was… terrifying.

"The Road to Recovery" used chocolate cake as an example. "A victim of abuse could start to panic at the mere mention of chocolate cake; simply because that was what they had for dessert once, the same day they were abused". So in other words, Severus had probably taken a shower or something right before he gained some of the numerous scars marring his body, so he associated water with that, subconsciously. It was something to talk to Dr. Brown about, to be sure.

_Or maybe he's always been this way. It'd explain the greasy hair._ But Harry had no way of knowing – the first time he'd had that idea, he'd Owled McGonagall with it, asking her if Severus had been scared of water before all of this happened. She responded with a simple she "did not know", that she "couldn't remember him exhibiting that sort of behaviour before".

As far as the triggers went, one could only help them through the attacks and help them see that, say, chocolate cake was just a tasty confection that never hurt anyone, or just try to keep the triggering object away. But Harry couldn't keep water away – Severus didn't to bathe, and he needed to confront it in larger quantities than a dish bowl. Quite ironically, though – Severus never seemed to have trouble looking out the window when it rained – and it rained a lot in England.

Dumbledore would have known if Severus was afraid of water. As much as Harry felt manipulated by the man, he would have been lying if he said that he didn't love him. Harry had been told that his paternal grandparents were dead, and Harry knew his mum's parents had died before he was born… Dumbledore had been very much like a grandparent to him. It was hard not to miss a grandparent… especially a very helpful one.

But would anyone else alive know of Severus' issues with water? Anyone? McGonagall had been his teacher and his colleague for a total of, well, lots of years. And Binns. And Madame Pomphrey. What about Slughorn, who had been the head of Slytherin House when Severus was a kid? Did anyone alive know anything about Severus? Anything?

The thought made him a bit ill, actually – if something happened to Harry (bad example, since he was held in higher esteem than the Muggle queen? Everyone watched his every move)? But what about, say, Dean Thomas? Harry would be able to verify that, yes, Dean did have a habit of picking his nose when he thought no one was looking. Hermione would know lots of study related things about him, probably… and Seamus was a "brother of a different colour". No, if Dean, for example, were in Severus' position, he'd have a lot of well-meaning people who knew about his habits and experiences, willing to help. Most people did,

But it didn't look like Severus did, and that pissed Harry off. It didn't matter that Snape had never been the easiest guy to befriend – someone – an adult- should have noticed _something_.

Mrs. Weasley was pretty good at noticing things. She noticed things about people when she wasn't even around them. She was the one who Firecalled last night and asked if she could babysit Teddy for the following day – something stupid about missing him, and being a lonely, old empty-nester, but even Harry knew the truth; she had noticed how utterly exhausted Harry had become and tried to help out with the load in any way that she could.

Mr. Weasley in the same way, had stopped by two nights before just after Severus and teddy were tucked in (in their closet and crib, respectfully) to drop off groceries Harry knew he could scarcely afford, and to go outside to perform maintenance work, like magically trimming the grass, which Harry had never understood, nor had he time to understand now.

His friends at school, plus Neville, did not ever come over, but Hermione sent over a week's worth of Nutritive Potions _twice_ a week "just in case". Neville sent over bouquets of flowers just to liven the place up, and Luna packed up, it seemed, the most random objects she could find, to send over to entertain the baby. Ginny was solely responsible for the miscellany, such as cases of butterbeer, no less than three Playwizard magazines for Harry to 'relax' with in his spare time, and a poster that he hung in the room, which spoke the truth; "it could be worse – you could have a caterpillar up your nose".

He loved that his friends took notice and tried to help in their own unique ways (really, he was indebted to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione) but at the same time, it made him feel a bit… depressed. Not in the fourth-year female Hufflepuff sense, but he just _missed _their company. They were all trying to avoid dropping in around Severus, it was obvious, so that there would not be no panic attacks, and he was grateful, but that didn't keep him from missing them.

One person he _didn't _need help with was Kingsley Shacklebolt. He wasn't quite sure what was going on in Kingsley's mind – probably that same shit about being too young, of how he shouldn't have to spend his money to help Severus. He liked Kingsley – Kingsley was the most badass living guy Harry knew, but he really needed some space away from him, to avoid thinking about _why _Kingsley and the Order hadn't tried harder to help Severus – and he couldn't do that when he kept getting Galleons and Muggle notes sent to him by Kingsley. Harry didn't need help paying for what little dent Severus made in his finances – it made him angry, wondering why Kingsley was so eager to help _now. _

Harry groaned and pushed the complaints out of his mind. If he read one more page out of a textbook, or one more sentence from "the Road to Recovery", his eyes would permanently cross, and then his glasses wouldn't be doing much good anymore. He _needed _to get some sleep… but that meant sleeping in the sitting room where he could keep an ear out for Severus. And _that _meant acting perfectly calm and happy, so Severus wouldn't be frightened.

They had paid another visit to Severus's therapist the previous day. Severus had sat on the floor, like last time, and played with the Rubik's cube. He had done very little speaking, so most of the time it seemed like Dr. Brown was talking to either Harry or a wall, but Dr. Brown assured Harry that it was fine, and that it would just take time. She had made it very clear that Harry was to let Severus get comfortable and know that he was safe – if that meant throwing a couple harmless orders at him, and trying your absolute best to keep from yelling or getting angry around him, then so be it.

That explained why Severus was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor that could have been cleaned in moments through magic. The way Harry tried to think about it, it was like Filch working at Hogwarts – yeah, they could clean it with magic, or they could let someone who needed the work do itr by hand.

He knew that Dr. Brown knew what she was talking about, coming into the sitting room – Severus looked more at peace scrubbing floors than he did asleep – maybe that was because Severus didn't have terrible nightmares while scrubbing floors.

He plopped himself down on the soda, ignoring the bow Severus made. To be honest, he was used to bows at this point, from many people, but that wasn't why he ignored Severus's bows – what could he do if not ignore it? Say 'you may rise'? Psh.

"Severus?" He tried once again to pry conversation out of Severus, which was like pulling a stuck leech off of you in Potions class. "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to walk on the ceiling?"

Long pause, which Harry was getting used to. "No, sir."

'_Liar'_, Harry wanted to say. Who hadn't imagined themselves picking their way around light fixtures and climing over doorways? But then again, Severus had claimed to never lie and as Slytherin as Harry knew Severus was, he doubted that Severus was lying about that – it had to be a new development, though.

"Really?" Harry yawned, stretching his back until he heard a satisfying pop. "That's cool… looking, I'm going to take a nap – if you need anything, just wake me up, okay? Oh, and don't leave the house. You can go anywhere in the house, except outside… And speaking of going, you remember where the toilet is, right?" Severus had had a few problems in relation to the toilet, but normally Harry just took him there to a regular basis to avoid most of them.

"Yes, sir." Came Severus's response, just as Harry expected. Severus was rather predictable these days, though it would be completely fun to cast lots on whether 'sir' or 'master' would come out of Severus's mouth, or what variation Severus would use to ask to be punished… "Fun" in a twisted sense, of course. Perhaps Harry just needed to get out more. Or was overly tired.

"And if anyone Floos or Firecalls or flies in… wake me up." He said as he began to dose, enjoying the amount of words that began with 'f'.

"Yes, Master. Is there anything you would like me to do?"

He was barely awake as he answered. "Just... be... be good."

"_Potter... I'm watching you."_

_"Who are you?" He looked around the surrounding darkness, trying his best to see something. Anything._

_"Potter... You know who I am."_

_Yes, he did. He knew, and it did not scare him. It worried him, troubled him, confused him, and just about everything but scared him._

_"You haven't won yet, Potter. You only think you have."_

_"You're wrong!" Harry said to Voldemort, wherever he was. '"I killed you a year ago. I watched you die. I watched them burn your body – if that's what you want to call it."_

_Contrary to being angry, Voldemort's voice softened. "Did you think that a simple Expelliarmus could kill Lord Voldemort? That simply knocking me over would do the job? Is that what you think?"_

_Harry reached in his pocket for his wand, and was overwhelmed with a blinding panic and hatred. How could he forget his wand? He needed his wand! And he hated himself for forgetting it._

_"That's what I know, actually."_

"_Tell me, what makes you so convinced that there were not cooling spells involved? Other pieces of... what do you like to call it – Dark magic?" A cackle. "Or even Light magic!"_

_"Stop it!" Harry's words almost sounded like Parseltongue... except that they were in English. He just hissed them out. "You're dead, and your mission is completely useless, anyway. Dumbledore said-"_

"_Dumbledore said, Dumbledore said..." Voldemort taunted. "Tell me, what else did Dumbledore say? Dear, _sweet_ Dumbledore..."_

"_Shut up!" Harry screamed._

"_You're absolutely right – it is time for you to be silenced. Avada Kedavra!"_

He sat upright, gulping in oxygen. He was... he was... not in Gryffindor Tower. On a sofa. In his home. That he bought. And warded himself. Right. He was safe.

He blinked and looked around the room. It was very dimly lit only by the magical fireplace, that cracked as it burned. It was casting very creepy moving shadows on the walls of the sitting room. But it was not pitch dark, which meant that it only had been a bad dream. Just a bad dream. Because he had been stupid enough to think that a simple nap wouldn't require a dose of Dreamless Sleep.

Severus was curled up on the carpet, in front of the window. His eyes were half-lidded as he stared into nothingness, though as soon as he noticed Harry looking at him, he scrambled into his standard bow.

He's got to be freezing, Harry realised. Even though it was not winter any longer, the nights could be chilly. Severus literally was skin and bones, the only thing keeping him from positively starving to death the nutritive Potion he took three times a day. His robes hung on him, and did not seem like they provided much warmth. Sleeping or even sitting underneath the window at night could make him sick.

Harry crooked his finger toward Severus. "Come here." He sat up, ignoring the head rush, and scooted forward.

Severus' eyes widened, but he did just as Harry asked, like he always did.

Harry hadn't intended on anything else happening. He had just wanted to get Severus away from the cold. If he told him to go sit in front of the fireplace, Severus might do something stupid like throw himself in. Not that he was suicidal, of course. No, of course not – he'd just misinterpret, in some insane way, what Harry was trying to tell him to do. He always did that.

And this time was no exception. "What? Snape... what're you do- No!" Harry smacked Severus' hand before pulling himself back up on the sofa, feet and all. He re-zipped his trousers back up, which Severus had somehow deemed perfectly acceptable to unzip. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

_Calm down, Harry – he didn't mean it,_ he tried to tell himself as Severus cringed in terror. But it was hard to stop his racing heart. What had Severus been doing? What was... Harry's mind raced as he sorted through the possibilities. _What in 'come here' meant 'unzip my trousers'? What has Severus been trying to do?_

"I-I-I apologize, master." Severus' voice shook as he bowed his head to the ground. "Please punish me in whatever manner you see-"

_Enough with the punishing._ Harry didn't know how Severus expected to be punished, but he wasn't going to. "No, no punishments. Look, you're not in trouble. Just... what were you trying to do?' he squirmed, bringing his hands to clasp on his knees protectively, so to be able to move them quickly to his fly if needed. "I was just trying to get you away from the window, so you could be warmer, is all."

"I apologize, sir." Severus said after some hesitation.

"Yeah, you've said that." Harry frowned at the growth of beard Severus was accumulating. It did not look right on him as all – it had to itch. It was just extra maintenance, really. But he sure as hell didn't trust Severus with a blade, and magically taking it off, even while Severus was asleep, was no way to earn his trust. "Can you tell me what you trying to do?"

"It was your demeanour I misunderstood, sir. When my past masters acted as such, they were expecting me to pleasure them.' Severus' eyes flitted up briefly, before coming back down. "I could do that, for you, sir, if you would like."

"No!" Harry winced as he saw Severus jump at his suddenly raised voice. "No, look, Severus – just... I don't... I don't... ah... thanks for the offer, but no, okay? It's, um, nothing personal, but I, um..." _'I can think of little worse than getting a blow-job or hand-job or whatever you're planning by Snape – with a beard? I'm trying to help you get better, and this is _not _getting better.'_ "I had a few issues, in this past year, involving, well, um, girls and sex and stuff, so I'm kind of off that right now."

He looked away from Severus, trying to gain his composure, before turning back to face the emotionless shell. "It's not that I don't think that you're really great, and nice, and wonderful-" he felt like biting his own tongue off, "-but we're not going to do that, okay? It's nothing personal. It's me, not you – understand?"

Severus did not take long to respond, though he did hesitate as always. Harry wondered why he did that – was it to give Harry a chance to continue, to sort through his thoughts, or something else?

"Yes, master."

"You understand?" Harry asked, hopefully.

"Yes, master. I understand."

"Good." Harry said, relief flooding through his system. "Um, look, I don't know what time it is, but I'm pretty sure I am late to pick up Teddy."

"It is eight o'clock, and Mistress Weasley said that you may wait to pick up young Master Teddy until morning, if that is what you wish to do." Severus spoke clearly, his tone as if he were reciting a message nearly word for word.

Harry's jaw dropped open. "How'd you know that?"

"Mistress Weasley fire-called several hours ago, master, when you were due to pick up Master Teddy." Severus explained. "I tried to awaken you, sir, but you would not."

"And the time?"

"The clock is behind you, sir." Severus squirmed, a very not-like-Snape move, but that was why Harry mostly thought of him as 'Severus' now – because he was nothing like Snape.

"Right." Severus could still tell time, that was good. Harry didn't didn't think he'd _forget_, per se, but he had seemed to lose a lot of other basic skills. It wouldn't have surprised Harry. "Well, um, I'm going to go pick him up. If you want to go ahead and run your bath water, then-"

Severus blanched, causing Harry to rethink what he was saying.

"-or not. Look, it's almost your bedtime, anyway – why don't you go change into your nightshirt? I'll be upstairs in a few, I promise."

"Yes, sir."

**Coming soon in **_**Unwell...**_

**Chapter Forty-Four:** _**A Job That Never Ends**_

**A/N: **_Wow… I can scarcely believe how long it has been since 'Unwell' was last updated. Honestly, I cannot apologise myself. I would be surprised if many of my readers are still around, and if not, I cannot blame them. It has been a long break. My excuses for such are complicated and perhaps a novel of its own, so I will not explain here. Just know that the author thinks it is a somewhat decent excuse, and form your own opinion from that. Fortunately, I am in an entirely new set of circumstances that should let me post weekly, and that is what I intend to do. Thank you, new readers and old, for your support. Really – I can't describe how glad I am to be posting again!_


	44. A Job That Never Ends

**Chapter Forty-Four  
"A Job That Never Ends"**

**

* * *

**Severus winced and pulled away as young Master Teddy walked over to him. Master obviously did not want Master Teddy touching Severus, and normally made an effort to keep him from doing so. But right now, Master was so absorbed in his textbook that he did not notice.

"I do not think Master wants you this close, Master Teddy." Severus said, easing himself further away from the determined child. He was grateful, too – even though he knew that Master Teddy would not hurt him like those older than him would, he still not not want to get touched. It burned, and reminded him of things... he did not like it at all.

"Teddy!" Master jerked up, paying attention. "Don't touch Severus."

The baby either ignored Master, did not understand his words, or did not hear him, for he took another wobbly two steps forward and tangled his hands in what was left of Severus' hair.

Severus' flinched back before he could stop himself, and as a result, the baby fell, and apparently hurt himself, as he began to cry.

And Severus' forehead burned.

"Okay, time for bed." Master spoke the words Severus dreaded. Even though it was only seven o'clock, and not the normal eight-thirty, Severus knew better than to protest, or remind his Master about that. The idea of doing so was rather laughable.

Master came over and picked up Master Teddy, his hand briefly making contact with Severus's knee, which Severus hated, but again, made no comment of as it was not his place.

"I am going to go lay him down." Master told Severus. "Why don't you get ready for your bath? I'll be down in a minute."

Master had started to have Severus get a bath every night. It was easily the worst thing Severus had encountered at this master's. So far, the most frightening still was what he had not experienced.

It occurred to Severus that Master was still waiting for an answer. This master did that a lot, whereas the other owners Severus had had just assumed Severus would comply, and rightfully so. It made Severus burn with shame to realise how much this master did not trust him.

"Yes, sir." Severus responded, feeling very small on the floor as opposed to his master's standing up height.

"Cool - and could you fill up one of Teddy's sippy cups with water?" master began up the stairs. "Use the kitchen sink tap - the sippy cups are well, you know where they are."

No, Severus did not. He hadn't a clue where young Master's sippy cups were kept. Whenever Severus came downstairs in the morning, Master Teddy was already in his high chair, preparing to throw his food at Severus. He kept the same cup most of the day, Severus was fairly sure.

"No, Master." He admitted.

"_What_?" Master turned around on the stairs, nearly falling down them as he did. "Huh? What'd you say?" He pushed his glasses up against his wide eyes.

"No, sir - I do not know where they are kept." No doubt Master thought that Severus refused him - that was something only a bad slave would do. Severus had refused his owners once upon a time.

"Oh." Master's shoulders drooped, as if disappointed – was he eager to punish Severus? "They're, um, in one of the upper cupboards. The same one where I keep your Potions."

Severus knew where that was. "Yes, Master." He watched his master disappear up the stairs, before getting to his feet and hurrying to the kitchen. His master had entrusted him with another small duty, and Severus refused to let him down.

_What happens if this is your training of sorts?_ Severus wondered, preparing the water for Master Teddy. Even though his master said that he was there to get retrained, the training he had anticipated hadn't happened yet. _Has the training already started? When would he sell you? Whom to_?

It was a particular worry Severus knew would never go away, regardless of how many times he was sold. For the past several _months_ (the thought made Severus feel faint – he had only been at The Monster's for months? How was that possible?) had depended on the grace of his owners. He had experienced everything, from the kind grace of Master Weston to The Monster's behaviour. Where would he be sold at? To whom, and for how much? He knew better than to hope for a terribly high amount, and yet, a part of him did.

_You do not hope for anything,_ he scolded himself as he walked up the stairs to Master Teddy's room. _You are to never wish for anything._

_That was your past life – as long as it is permitted, there is no harm in wishing for what you want._

He went into Master Teddy's room, and immediately knelt, head to floor, in silence, waiting for his master to acknowledge him – a good slave never spoke first.

"Oh, hey, thanks." He heard his master stride over, and felt him take the cup from his hand – knowing his wand in such close proximity caused Severus to tense, almost painfully so.

Severus brought his head up, but waited on his knees in the doorway, waiting for his master's dismissal.

Master handed the cup to the turquoise-haired child with... was that a dog or a duck snout? "Um, hey, Severus... you know, I was reading all about laws and stuff, and I'm under the impression that we can change how you bow, right?"

_Of course._ "You are in control of me, master." Severus spoke, making sure he kept his eyes to the ground, to show his submission.

"Wow, um, okay. So I'm thinking that since you're kind of... not so young anymore, you're probably not too comfortable on your knees all the time."

Severus was perfectly comfortable, but he knew not to argue, but to let Master continue.

"So, I don't know how'd you feel more comfortable bowing, but I thought we should at least think about it, how you'd want to change it. You could bow your head or something... we'll think on it."

Did Severus not always bow his head? Shame on him – he would have to make more of an effort to do so.

"Yes, sir."

"So, I'm gonna get him settled down. Go get ready for your bath – I'll be downstairs soon."

"Yes, sir." Severus got to his feet and hurried to obey his master, as much as he was hating what he had to do.

Getting ready for his bath was not all that complicated – it involved leaving the robes he wore in the sitting room, so that Master could clean them (they were always so scratchy after he did so), and bringing the nightshirt he wore into the sitting room as well, for him to change into after the bath (there was no room in the small downstairs bathroom for him, Master, and something they did not want to risk getting wet).

He brought the nightshirt down with him and laid it neatly over the coffee table. He then pulled off the uncomfortable woolen robes, welcoming the freedom it allowed his body. He then stood and waited on his master to descend the stairs, so they could begin on the activity Severus least enjoyed.

If there were a fellow slave or house elf Severus could confide in, he would tell them all about why he hated baths. He would explain how he saw and felt everything that had happened to him at The Monster's whenever he was in the bath. He would explain how he had this constant worry that his Master would submerge him under the water, and the spidery burning feeling that went over his skin as Master touched him. He would be fully free to vent about how he was to breathe in such close proximity to his master, and of how terrified he got when his master touched areas that were only noticed by owners for few purposes – it was easily the one part of his body he had the least control over, and he hated it for that. He would talk about how even if his master left him to take a bath himself, he'd hate it – because there was water involved. There was also the fact that since he had not died through curses, it would be through water, of course – and that was something else he was afraid of.

But there was no one to talk to. No house-elves, no other slaves. Severus was all alone, in the world he had. Completely alone.

Master jogged down the stairs and went into the bathroom, not taking note of Severus' presence.

Severus rose from his bowing position and followed, his body cold. He could feel himself shaking in dread of the task he had to complete.

He watched as Master placed the plug in the drain, and adjusted the temperature on the water. The roaring sound the water made as it came out of the tap and hit the bottom of the tub filled his ears, and made the anxiety of waiting all the worse.

"It's not too hot, don't worry." Master assured Severus – or at least attempted to. Truth be told, Severus would much prefer the water to be boiling, over it being cold. The People at The Monster's had always used cold water, water that nearly froze his lungs.

A burning filled his forehead. He was worrying, which his master had strictly told him not to do just moments ago. It made a sense of hopelessness fill him, down to his very core – would he ever learn?

"Severus?" Master's voice distracted him out of his thoughts. "The water really is fine, I promise. I'd never lie to you."

_Unless that is a lie on it's own,_he permitted himself to think before bringing up the Occlumency shields ever higher, with a determination to keep them that high at all times. He had gotten to be a good slave by employing the use of that skill – it was obviously the only way he could improve. He just needed to keep raising them as needed.

"Severus?" His master tried, over the water's roar. "What are you doing?"

Severus' breath hitched, and he was unable to breathe. Of all the times for his master to ask such a question! None of his masters had ever asked him that before, so he had never had the worry that... oh Merlin.

"Raising my Occlumency shields, master." Severus answered quietly, wishing his master would stop speaking for a short while so Severus could raise the shield's strength enough to keep that part off his mind that worried closed off – as worry was something that he literally was doing all the time, it took much effort.

"Oh..." Master's voice faltered. "Um, Occlumency?"

_Weak. Arrogant. Your father was a swine. You are the most incompetent human I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. Lazy. _Legillimens_!_

"Yes, sir." Severus fought again his mind, willing his mind to turn away the torrent of words that built up in his mind.

"Oh." Was his master's only words of response. No questions of why, no forbidding it. It seemed that he just accepted it. It was a pleasant surprise, actually. Did that mean that Severus would be allowed to Occlude his mind? He could not recall ever being this relieved. Still though, he had to check, just to make sure he would being obedient as possible.

Because he was trying to become a good slave again.

"Master?" He asked, hesitantly. His master did not seem to have a problem with him speaking when spoken to, though it was still a great risk speaking when not first spoken to. It was disrespectful. Bad manners meant that you did not respect your master, which meant that you were as terrible as a slave as you could get.

"Mmm?" Master sat on the shut lid of the toilet, watching the tub full with water, a sight Severus took pains to avoid.

Severus shifted his feet on the tiled floor – they thankfully did not hurt as must on the chilled tile as they did on other floors. "May I Occlude?" He made certain not to add 'my mind' – it was not really his mind, of course. Many owners were lenient about their slaves saying 'my this', and 'my that', but it was wrong, so Severus chose not to say it.

How he wished he had been able to ignore his conscience, and not ask his master, not risking the ability he so desperately clung to!

"What? You said that you were already doing it, right?" It seemed Master was being interrupted from deep thought. "Go ahead – I don't have a problem with- damn, the water's probably cold." He reached out and turned the tap off. "Why don't you get in? And yeah, no problem with the, um, Occlumency."

Severus' relief was great, and he spent a few moments, after thanking his master, trying to keep his thoughts, emotions and worry down. It was a slave's job to obey on an instant, and to show little emotion, and no resistance doing so. That Severus had to spend several moments kicking his well-practised Occlumency skills up a little higher to do those things was hopefully no problem to his master – he was getting retrained, after all.

"Severus," Master prodded after several moments. "The bath."

Yes... the bath. Severus lifted as shaky foot off the floor and placed it in the tub, and then the next. He gripped a bar on one side of the tub, preparing to lower himself down.

He nearly slipped when he felt his master's hands fall firmly on his hips. He cried out in panic at the touch, and hated the feeling the touch caused. But he squashed the panic, as well as the accompanying thoughts, almost as quickly as they came. The level of Occlumency he was using was mainly for blocking incoming thoughts, not for blocking out your own mind. But it would never get out of control, Severus would see to that.

Because it was not really HIS mind, was it? It belonged to Master, and Severus had to do everything he could to to make sure it respected Master's wishes.

Occlumency. Why the hell would Severus be using Occlumency?

Harry knew that Severus knew Occlumency - there was no way Severus would have been able to spy on Voldemort so successfully without being good at Occlumency. Voldy had obviously expected Severus to be good at Occlumency too, because he thought that Severus was spying on Dumbledore, one of the greatest Legillimens in the world... what a crazy life the man in front of him had lived.

_Well, maybe he's hiding his thoughts from you, he_ noticed Severus was having his routine trouble getting into the tub. He had done better than usual, only needing brought out of his panic once.

He reached out. "I'm going to touch you." He warned. He wasn't able to see the man's face, but touching Severus was no big deal most of the time now - for Harry, at least. Severus was clean, and so unable to help himself due to paralyzing fear, that Harry had taken to doing things he had never imagined doing. Really, it wasn't that much different from bathing Teddy... except that Teddy moved too much, and Severus not enough. He feared the day that Teddy realised fish swam in the water and pointedly made sure that there were no fish illustrations in any of Teddy's board books. Most parents joked that their kid practically turned into a fish in the tub - for Harry, noting Teddy's

Metamorphmagus abilities, it was a real concern.

_But I'm not a Legillimans,_ Harry grabbed the plastic cup he used to wash Severus' hair with, and filled it up with water from the tap after supporting Severus as he lowered into the tub. _What good is keeping your thoughts secret from someone who already knows them, anyway?_

The stunned Nagini had still managed to bite Severus, one stunning spell not enough to stop the large snake. But the bite had not been deep enough to have Severus lose too much blood, nor had the dazed snake released enough venom to kill. The memories Severus had given to Harry in a panic were, in a way, now Harry's memories as well.

_And I just asked him what he was doing and he told me,_ he realised as he poured the water around Severus; shoulders that frighteningly showed bones through his skin that Harry didn't even know where there. _At any given time, he'd tell you whatever you want to know... so why Occlude?_

Unless it was purely out of habit, it didn't make sense. He couldn't be hiding them from Harry or Teddy - it was a ridiculous notion - and there was no one else around... it didn't make sense, and yet, Harry didn't want it to. If he asked, chances were that Severus would indeed tell him, and Severus deserved to have some things to himself. That was why Harry hadn't read the mile long file about how many fevers Severus had ever had - Severus had no dignity, it seemed, and if he thought Harry knew everything about him, he doubted Severus would get any of it back.

"We haven't washed your hair in awhile." He put his hands on Severus' shoulder, ignoring the flinching, trying to get him to lean back against the tub. "Do you think that we ought to do it tonight?"

He knew that Severus would tell Harry that it was up to Harry, but little did Severus know that if Severus said he didn't want to have his hair washed, it wouldn't be washed, no questions asked. Not that there was a ton of hair to wash - Harry had chopped it about an inch from Severus' skull, and it looked terrible. Hermione had been worried about the nutritive Potion and the hair regrowth Potion mixing, so it would just have to grow out the natural way... lucky for Severus, the nutritive Potion helped it grow faster than average.

"If that is what you wish to do, sir." Being called 'sir' by Severus was just a cruel fate with a twist, as Harry had been calling Severus that just a year ago. It would be unlikely that Harry would ever have a chance to do that again - it was hard to call someone 'sir' when you were the one to scrub away the dead skin from below the waist.

He picked up the baby Muggle shampoo he used for both Teddy and Severus - using his wand for suds would scare Severus, and Teddy's eyes were too sensitive - and placed it on the edge closest to him. But he wouldn't begin washing the hair, not yet - it seemed to be Severus' least favourite part, so they would save it for last. Otherwise, Severus would freeze up too much to finish the bath.

"So," he tried to make conversation as he lathered a washcloth. "Tomorrow, we're going to Dr. Brown's again - remember what we talked about? No bowing towards anyone. You can bow to her once we get into the actual office, if you want, but not anyone don't want them to get too disturbed... they're Muggles, and don't understand about slavery."

"Yes, sir." Severus belatedly responded, as if he hadn't heard Harry until a few moments too late.

Harry sighed as he used the cup to rinse off Severus' neck. Making conversation with him seemed impossible, but since Dr. Brown encouraged it... even though she wasn't too encouraging, herself. So far, all of their sessions had been spent with Harry and Dr. Brown going over what they knew about Severus' past and future, and trying to make a plan - Severus tried to solve the Rubik's cube, and paid little attention to them. It was almost like-

The cup slipped from his hand, and landed on Severus' lap. Severus jumped, almost standing up as he squealed in surprise. He quickly recovered though - and looking down at Severus' lap, Harry frowned.

"Severus, does that hurt?" He reached down slowly to pick up the cup, which had moved outside Severus' lap, thankfully. Just the same, though - having Harry's hand nearby caused Severus to flinch.

"I do not understand what you mean, sir." Severus admitted. "And I am sorry for my reaction - I was startled, though I realise that is not an acceptable excuse. Please punish me however you see fit."

Harry ignored the apologies. "Your foreskin looks kinda gross - we haven't been taking care of that really, have we? When's the last time you washed underneath it?"

Silence. Harry suddenly felt like a parent having to explain to a young boy about penile hygiene. The problem was that in this case, Severus and Harry both should have known better.

"I've not a fair concept of time any longer, Master." Severus confessed. "Please punish me however-"

"Roll it back." Harry sighed. Yet another thing to put on the list of the Care and Keeping of Severus list. It was a job that never ended.

-It was almost like Severus was able to not pay attention at all. As if he was able to block his mind entirely... which could help a lot in some situations. If Harry didn't have to think all the time, his life would be a lot easier. He couldn't block out his mind though... but Severus could. Harry knew he could. He was _now_.

Suddenly, a lot of things began to make a lot of sense, and Harry began to, not for the first time, feel way out of his league.

**Coming soon in _Unwell..._**

**Chapter Forty Five: _Untitled_**


	45. Flying Solo?

1**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or any characters in the series. I am not making any money off of this story, but am writing it as a hobby.**

**Chapter Forty-Five**

"**Solo?"**

"I just don't know how to convey to him that there are things he doesn't have to do, and there are things he does." Harry glanced over at Severus, whose dark eyes were focused on the Rubik's Cube. "And he doesn't even seem to be listening again!" He let out a sigh of frustration.

Dr. Brown pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "What I would focus on is the care - safety. Constantly let him know that your home is his home, and that he will not come to harm there. You cannot say it - I am sure he is used to meaningless words."

"But how can I show it when he thinks I'm constantly ordering him around?" Harry complained. "Every three minutes, it's 'Severus, do this' or 'I think it'd be a good idea if you would...'."

"By speaking softly and calmly, by never telling at him, or giving him harsh punishment. By praising him and not confusing him by complaining about the workload when he is in earshot."

"He's in earshot _now_." Harry pointed out.

Dr. Brown nodded. "Yet, I do not think he is listening in the slightest. You say he used to be a Potions teacher?"

The title was actually 'Potions Master', which was just another old-school name for 'teacher. Potions _Master _- how unfunnily ironic. "Yeah."

"Potions require intense concentration to make, I hear."

They did. That's why Harry sucked at making them.

"Perhaps it's years of practice that is keeping him from hearing us. And helping him solve that Rubi's Cube."

Years of practice and a brilliant mind. An extremely brilliant mind. Harry had lain awake for nights, trying to figure out exactly how Severus was using Occlumency. It caused him not to hear some things, Harry was pretty sure, or maybe just tune them out. Was it how Severus kept from lashing out at him, by maybe surrounding himself with fake thoughts so that it did not seem like he was really there? If he took all the Occlumency shields down, would he be Snape again?

That was another thing that worried Harry. Yes, he would rather Severus be Snape than Severus the slave, but he also didn't want to go through all this blood, sweat, tears, and hard work to end up with Snape. He wanted to end up with a happy and healthy Severus, but was that really possible? What if Snape had not just been conditioned to be mean - what if he was really just mean? The idea crushed Harry. After all of this, he wanted Severus to stick around, not leave him.

That worried Harry even more. He had come to accept that he cared about Severus, but that would imply that he really did, that he cared for him as a friend, or something. After all, Harry cared about the squirrels running up and down the trees outside, but he did not care for them as he did Teddy, or Ron, or Hermione... or Severus.

He explained to Dr. Brown everything he knew about Occlumency, which was, admittedly, not much. He had learned very little under Snape's tuition, something that was both of their faults.

"So, I don't know if it's helping him solve that Rubik's Cube or not, but I'm pretty sure it's what is making him completely ignore us now." Harry said. "And what makes it so damn hard to get his attention on occasion. It completely makes sense."

Dr. Brown nodded. "Do you have any books on the subject of Occlumency? It sounds like a very interesting subject, and something that if we were to tackle, we would want to know plenty about." She bit her lower lip. "I would be hesitant to say anything to him about it, or encourage him to take down his Occlumency shields at this point. That could end in a potential disaster."

Good point. "So, what's next? I mean, as far as his head goes. I think I've figured out everything else out to this point - I'm adding rice baby food and maybe super mushy porridge to his nutritive Potion starting soon, just in the morning or at noon or something, to kind of wean him off _just_ the nutritive Potion. And I'm going to start paying extra attention to his, um, health." He coloured slightly as the events of last night came back to him. After cleaning Severus with his bare hands of all things, he had Firecalled Hermione for suggestions, who told him what sort of Potion to use, Which took forever to brew, so instead of brewing it, she sent Ron to Madame Pomfrey to ask for some... who did not believe that it was for Harry until _after_ an examination. Ron was going to kill Harry... but it wasn't Harry's fault that apocotheries were not open overnight.

Anyhow, between the daily cleaning and applying cream, Severus and Harry were officially much closer than Harry would have liked - thank God Severus could apply to cream on his own. But if he did not get over his fear of water, the other job was Harry's for life.

"I think," she said through pursed lips as she thought, "I think that we should try solo."

Solo? "Huh?"

"I think that we should try our next session with just Severus and I." she paused to take a sip of her water. "See if that helps him open up. He is not going to start recovery until we know how to help him, and we will not know that until we know what he has been through."

Those words struck a chord with Harry. Harry knew that Severus had been through a lot - the scars on his body, some which had to have been required while a slave, were proof of that. Something had to have happened to Severus to make him think that being chained up on the floor was okay. And Harry had already told Dr. Brown that he was fairly sure that if Weston _hadn't_ raped Severus, he had done other inappropriate things... but what _didn't_ Harry know? How could he try to understand and help, if he didn't know?

"Good idea." Harry nodded. "So when he tells you stuff, that means he gave it up voluntarily and didn't feel forced by me being here. Then, you can tell me what he said and-" he stopped as she began to shake her head. "What?"

"He needs someone to confide in." She explained. "He is afraid to confide in you, and no wonder - you are entirely able to squash him like a bug."

"But I won't." He protested.

"He does not know that." she reminded Harry gently. "I can tell you how to change things at home to better things, and I can recommend to him that he tell you something. I can ask if I can tell you something, even. Patient/Doctor cofidientality is in the job description, Harry. That goes for men, women, children... and slaves." she paused. "Think about it - he is a grown man, and has virtually no privacy at home. The sense that he's entitled to some - that you respect the need for it - will go a long way."

She had a point, as usual. "But how can I give him more privacy at home?"

"Don't." Was her stern answer. "Like we have discussed, he is mentally unstable. I know you say he's harmless, but we have no idea his background, the extent of the abuse... the Dark Mark alone gives us reason not to trust him further than we can throw him." she cleared her throat, flushing slightly. "A figure of speech, of course. And there is his health to keep in mind - after explaining to me what happened yesterday, it makes me wonder if you have gotten him in for a physical?"

No. It had flitted across his mind, before realisiing how few medi-wizards probably saw slaves. It would have to be a Squib. He explained this all to Dr. Brown.

"Just be prepared to pay for it." she warned. "I highly doubt the Ministry will pay for a slave's healthcare."

Harry's dad and Sirius were probably spinning in their graves at how Harry was spinning their money... but like Harry had pointed out before, Sirius did not have a grave, so they were in the clear there. "So next week, just you and him?" Harry asked, already planning on how he could take Teddy with them and keep him entertained in the waiting room. "I'll just..."

"I will need you to wait in the waiting room." she said. "Normally, you might be able to spend the hour out and about, but I need you nearby, in case he unleashes magic or something else happen."

Wonderful. Unleashing magic. Was that what she expected him to do? Boy oh boy. He stood up and shook her hand. "Thank you."

She simply inclined her head before speaking. "Harry, how are you holding up?"

How was Harry holding up? He was tired, needed a good hot shower, was worried about Severus's mental health and what weird thing he would do next, about Teddy and his future, and was sick and tired of porridge for breakfast. But he was also fine. Just fine.

"Um, okay, I guess?" Harry said. This was a really personal question she was asking him, and he wasn't inclined to give personal answers to anyone. Even talking to Ron and Hermione about super personal stuff wasn't something he did - most guys probably didn't.

"I was just asking because, you're looking very tired, and I cannot help but comment on something I have noticed, if you do not mind." She said, crossing her legs.

_Oh shit. She's going to ridicule me. Tell me I'm taking on too big of a load, that I'm biting off more than I can chew, that-_

"I have noticed that you have changed very much in the few short weeks you've had Severus."

Short weeks? What planet was she living on? Mars? Pluto? It had been some of the longest weeks of Harry's life - the days went by lightening fast sometimes, but the weeks themselves went by like years.

"You have seemed to become a bit more sensible, and more practical, in the past couple weeks." She said. "That is a good thing. I just thought you would have wanted to know."

_In other words, Harry, you are less of an idiot. Congratulations. Snape always wanted you to grow up, and now, thanks to Severus, you finally have started. _"Um, thanks, Dr."

"Severus? Severus, are you still with us?" She strode over to Severus and knelt before him, though several feet away.

That caught his attention, though. He immediately knelt his head to the ground, sitting down the Rubik's Cube on the floor.

She shook her head. "You have bowed once already, which was very nice of you, by the way. I'm flattered. But you can sit up, now."

Severus did, and looked nervously over at Harry.

Harry forced a smile and nodded, hoping Severus would see that as consent to do whatever, Apparently, judging from Severus's reaction - widening of the eyes, tensed body - it was the wrong gesture.

"Have you been listening to a word your master and I have been saying?" Her smile never wavered as she shifted on her feet, no doubt tired as she squat.

Severus hesitated, his dark eyes filled with uncertainty. "No, mistress." He finally said. "I-I did not realise that I was supposed to - I thought that I was to not listen." He bowed again. "Please forgive me. I will ask my master to punish me at a later time."

_Why would I bother to bring you here if you weren't supposed to listen to the conversation?_ It was actually good, because Harry didn't think they had really wanted Severus to hear some of that conversation.

"It's all right." Dr. Brown shook her head. "You have been very busy trying to solve that Rubik's Cube - are you making any progress?"

Harry glanced over at the multi-coloured cube - one side was completely solid, but the rest was still all messed up.

"I am trying to, mistress." Severus winced. "I am very sorry. Please-"

Harry couldn't take another apology in this quarter of the hour. It was as Severus was on a loop tape, constantly. "No one is forcing you to solve it - she thought that you might enjoy it."

Severus bit his lip, a lip that was already fairly bruised and cut, torn from the same behavior.

"May I see the Rubik's Cube, Severus?" Dr. Brown didn't wait for the skin on Severus' lip to burst as he agonised over things. "This session's over - I thought I might put it on the shelf until next time." She glanced over at Harry. "Your master will talk to you about that."

Severus slowly handed over his project - Harry noted how Severus shook as he got close to Dr. Brown, then dropped it in her hand before wincing, shrinking away. It was a bit stupid - it wasn't like she was going to hit him or anything. He knew that.

Harry lead Severus out of the office, out of the waiting room. Severus did not bow to anyone in the waiting room, though they still stared. Probably not only because of his behavior, but because of the robes he wore.

"Severus, remember how we're going to the Weasley's tonight?" Harry gripped Severus' wrist so to not lose him as they stepped out onto the busy London streets.

Severus jerked back at the touch before a glazed look came over his eyes... and then disappeared. Harry had never noticed Severus do that before. "Yes, Master." Severus spoke almost too quietly to hear.

"Well, we need to go pick up a few things to take to the Burrow with us." Harry explained. "I thought we could find you something else to wear, too - if you want, of course." It occurred to Harry that Severus might be more comfortable in simple trousers, rather than robes, what with all of the crawling around on the floor that he did. "Ready to go?"

It took him a moment to realised that Severus's way of answering was to close his eyes tightly, to prepare for the apparition.

Harry had a good feeling about that solo thing. After all, it couldn't get much worse. It seemed he was thinking that a lot lately.

Severus followed Master down the cobblestoned street, He had to be careful not to stub his bare toe on any of the stones, and to avoid getting his toes stepped on by those passing by.

In the Wizarding world, everyone knew who his master was. They knew he was a great man who had done great things. That made shopping taxing on his master, quite evidentially. Every few minutes, someone would come up to talk to Master - or even Severus. People took pictures with flashing bulbs. People crowded in very closely, until it was all Severus could do to follow his Master, and pray that he would not lose sight of him.

Master ducked into a small bakery, and Severus quickly followed him. The shopkeeper shut the door on the crowd of people, yelling at them to leave Master in peace.

"Severus, are you all right?" Master turned to Severus, breathlessly.

It was Master that Master should have been concerned over. "Yes, Master."

Severus caught sight of a man, covered in powdery white flour, standing nearby, and knelt down onto the floor, in a deep bow. The stone floor was also covered in flour, which stuck to Severus's forehead.

"Okay, Severus, good job." Master said, quietly, releasing Severus from his bow.

"Here, have him drink this." The shopkeeper, a baker, passed Master a goblet. "It's good for the shivers - I have them myself."

"Thanks." Master passed the goblet to Severus as he stood back up - the goblet was filled to the bring with a foamy yellow substance.

Severus had the shivers? Panic briefly filled him, as he remembered his mother's final days, but he pushed them back, reinforcing the Occlumency shields. He then drank, obediently.

"I tell you, they get a hero, and they have to treat him like hell." the baker reached out and grabbed dough, which was kneading itself on the counter.

As Master and the baker discussed things - including Master's order - Severus's eyes looked over the assortment of sweets, cakes, and biscuits on display. He had not had much of that in quite some time - the idea of eating sweets was not a good one, however; if he was ever offered one from one of his owners, he always knew something bad could follow.

"So, Severus," Master finally turned to him as the baker bustled away to fill his order. "What do you think of Dr. Brown?"

Dr. Brown... Mistress Brown... which was the correct title, for Severus.

"She is pretty." Severus served up a somewhat neutral opinion of her. Truth be told, he did not have much of an opinion on her - as the conversations had not included him, he had blocked them out of his mind, as to not to eavesdrop.

Master's mouth dropped open before chuckling. "Yeah, I guess she is. But are you comfortable around her?"

That was a response that required much though, and unfortunately, not enough time to think. Why did his master care? Even if Severus were to serve as the one who enabled her to get pregnant with her children (as was popular with fertile male slaves), it would not matter if he were _comfortable _around her.

"I am." He finally went with the simplest explanation possible. It was the truth, except that he did not add on with 'as comfortable as I am with everyone else above me'. He did not trust her necessarily, but as of yet, she, like Master, had not been particularly threatening as of yet.

"Cool." Master was quiet for a moment, tracing his finger in the flour on the counter. "So, I guess you heard her idea today... well, not if you meant what you said about not listening. Next time we go to see her though, we decided that I'm waiting in the waiting room, so you can talk to her comfortably, without, you know, me there."

Alone? Master was leaving him alone with Mistress (Dr?) Brown? His throat filled with bile as he thought what she might do to him in the time they spent alone - he did not know what she had planned. Why would she want him alone? To talk - about what? No one rented a slave for time alone and simply _talked_.

He hated not knowing.

"Severus?" Master touched Severus's arm.

"_Come on!" Master Mering grabbed Severus's arm and dragged him._

Severus jerked back, and felt his stomach drop asa his elbow made contact with a glass cake dome on display. It crashed onto the floor - he could feel tiny bits of glass land around his feet.

"Shit!" Master yelped. "Severus... Severus, no! You don't have to- shit, I'm so sorry sir!"

Severus's heart pounded as he knelt on the floor. Glass was uncomfortably poking his knees through his robes, and he had to be careful to keep his head only lightly touching the floor, to avoid the cuts he knew Master would get angry over.

_This is it,_ Severus's heart pounded so that his entire body did. _He is going to make you pay off the debt. He is going to give you to the baker until it is paid off. He is going to sell you afterwards - to a scientist. To a breeder. Someone who would not mind owning an untrained slave._

"It is fine, Mr. Potter." The baker said after Master's explanation. "Accidents happen."

"I can pay for it." aster continued, frantically. "It doesn't matter the price."

"No need. It is only glass. Easily repaired." The baker's voice was very quiet. "Should there be damages, I will send the bill."

Glass cracked beneath shoes. Severus could hear the footsteps near him, and closed his eyes tighter, bracing himself for the kick.

"It's all right." the baker said, softly. "Look up at me, Little One. I'm not angry."

Little One? Who was that? Severus had not even been called that as a children, but yet, who else could the baker be talking to? Master and Severus were the only others in the bakery.

Terrified, he looked up and darted a glance at the elderly baker. He had long grey hair, tied behind his neck. His blue eyes were troubled, but not angry... still though, the smile did not reach his eyes.

A whimper escaped before Severus could stop it. It did not aid the tightness in his throat, and as the tears spilled down his face, he ducked his head, unable to look at the man any longer.

_Wretched, wretched... your master must be so angry. You deserve any punishment given to you - and more._

"Don't touch him!" Master barked, causing Severus to startle. And then quieter, Master added. "That's what causes this in the first place."

"Here, take this." The man said.

Severus looked to see a flour covered hanky, and took it out of obedience.

"There's no need to cry - we can clean this mess up in an instant."

Severus had to try several times before he could get his throat working properly. "Please forgive me, Master, sir." He acknowledged both men. He kept his head bowed as he continued. "Please punish me in whatever way you see fit."

"No punishments, you know that." Master's voice was firm. "Come on, Severus - let's get to the Weasleys. I'm sure Teddy misses you."

"That is right." The baker agreed. "Why don't you let me clean up the mess? I will send your master the box of biscuits he ordered. There's no harm done. I will likely even be able to repair the dome, as good as new."

An order was an order. He stood up on shaky legs, doing his best to ignore the painful glass in his roughened feet. He attempted to hand the hanky back to the man, unused, but the man shook his head.

"Keep it." He said. "You need it."

"Just send the owl to Harry Potter, at the Burrow." Master said, ushering Severus towards the door, but not unlocking it.

"Blow your nose and wipe your face." Master ordered Severus. "Then grab hold - then we'll Disapparate from here."

"Good luck, Mr. Potter." the baker called. "Good luck at that party tonight, and with that slave of yours."

Severus was sure that he heard Master say 'I'll need it' before they Disapparated away.

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...**

**Chapter Forty-Six: **


	46. Gik

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", or many of the characters in this story. I am making no money off of this story.**

**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Six**  
"**Gik"  


* * *

**

The Burrow was thankfully, this time, free of excess people. Shortly after Severus and Harry arrived, Ron and Hermione did, and they were free to sit down for a quiet meal. No one talked about slavery, save the moment Hermione mentioned the amount of letters she was getting, for information on Harry Potter's slave, and how SPEW was finally picking up on popularity. No one stared at how Severus kneeled at Harry's side to eat, and no one asked him any questions at the table. There was an occasional tentative attempt to draw him in on the conversation, but those were not pushed and quickly given up.

After everyone was done eating, and simply sitting around the table chatting, Severus did do something Harry did not expect - he stood from his place, picking up his dishes and carried them over to the basin. And then, he began on the empty dishes on the table.

"Oh, it's all right, Severus." Mrs. Weasley said. "I will take care of those in a bit. It will only take moments."

Harry appreciated how she didn't just pull out her wand and have them begin cleaning themselves, like she normally did - she realised Severus' unfortunate fear of magic, and did not ignore it.

Severus looked over at Mrs. Weasley, and then over at Harry. Then, he knelt where he was at and went through his standard apologies.

"Quite all right, dear." Mrs. Weasley said kindly, as Severus came over to Harry's side once again.

Harry couldn't help but wonder how many people had simply continued on with their conversations while Severus had cleaned up after them. He wondered if there was something Severus did not like about the idea of getting better, about being on the 'road to recovery'. It seemed the harder Harry pushed for Severus to act like a normal human, the more Severus tried to act like a slave. He realised that at this point, Severus was comfortable being a slave, but did he want to get better? And if he didn't, was it wrong by trying to force him? He wished Hogwarts had offered an ethics course - it would have been much more helpful than Divination had been.

"Severus," Mr. Weasley pulled his serviette out of his collar and pushed his chair back. "I have to go outside to bring my plugs inside - I was working on a special enchantment, trying to get them to work in a Wizarding household, and forgot to put them back in the shed. Care to join me?"

Harry didn't have the heart to tell Mr. Weasley that his plugs would never work if there were no outlets. So he instead turned to a wide eyed Severus and shrugged. "Why not? It'll only take a few minutes - you'll have a whole lot more fun than you will in here, I'll promise you that."

"Yes, sir." Harry watched Severus swallow hard as he stood, and began to follow Mr. Weasley out the back door, remaining a far distance behind, head bowed low.

"What size shoe does he wear?" Ron asked after they left, lazily pulling his wand out and sending the dishes scrubbing. "I've got an old pair of 44s I have to do something with, and no Mum, I will not use a stretching charm." he glared at Mrs. Weasley, who hadn't actually said anything.

Harry shrugged. "It's probably on his file

(_Everything is on that damn file_)

but I'm sure he knows. I meant to take him robe shopping today, but if I go anywhere Wizarding-related, I'm going to get mobbed, so..."

"There's a nice little second-hand shop in Ottery St. Mary," Mrs. Weasley supplied, bringing over the box of biscuits Harry had ordered, and a pie Hermione had brought.

"Is that where you got Ron's first set of dress robes?" Harry asked.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, Snape'll look great - I thought we were trying to lay off of the torture."

"Ronald!" Hermione hit him. "That's terrible - you can't possibly imagine what he's been through."

"It's a Muggle second-hand shop, actually." Mrs. Weasley resumed the conversation. "It is where I used to buy Muggle clothing at - you know, trousers, jumpers... without the worry that they are holding together with poor enchantments. I remember the time I bought Ron a pair of y-fronts that-"

Harry and Hermione desperately tried to quell their laughter. "Mum!" Ron was almost as red as his hair.

"I could always stop in and buy him whatever he needs." Mrs. Weasley seemed oblivious to her son's embarrassment. "Goodness knows that trousers would be simpler for him to crawl about in than that old robe of Arthur's that he's been wearing."

Harry smiled appreciatively. "Yeah, yeah, that'd be good, thanks. Um, I don't have a list of what he needs. Just whatever you think, you know." he tried to figure out what Severus had and didn't. "Just the basic stuff, that all matches and it doesn't matter if something explodes all over it. That'd be great - and the smallest size you can find for his height - I reckon it'll be awhile if he ever gains enough weight to need new ones."

"How are you on Nutritive Potions?" Hermione wanted to know.

"He's doing great – they work, so he hardly needs to eat anything, and he's not throwing up as much." Harry glanced at Teddy, who was flying a pretend broomstick through his pie, which he smeared more than he ate. "So, um, school." He knew he was being a selfish, immature git (just like Dr. Brown said he needed to stop being, in so many words), but he lived, researched, and talked Severus all day – he rather wished for a break. "Who is ready for the NEWTs?"

"I am." Ron announced at the same time Hermione declared that she absolutely was not.

"What do you intend to do with Severus and Teddy while you're at the school?" Mrs. Weasley asked, bringing Severus right back into the conversation. "You know that they are both welcome here."

"Yeah." Harry was getting yet another headache. "Um, I don't know about Severus. I can't bring him to school with me – I don't want to think about how the people running the NEWTs would react to an ex-professor being there

_(or how the other students will look and taunt him for being there as a slave, for that matter, _he thought, remembering the sales guy earlier that day).

And knowing my luck, Severus will drown himself – accidentally or on purpose – in his water bowl while I'm gone. Or he'll have beaten himself to death with a wooden spoon because I said 'be good and don't move', and he blinked. Or Lucius Malfoy will probably decide to stop by if I leave Severus home alone. You know, knowing my luck." They had not seen or heard from or about Lucius Malfoy since the day of the original WFS interview, but that didn't mean he didn't have a plan. "I guess here is the best place, but no offense – he doesn't feel too comfortable around you."

"Mate," Ron stuffed three biscuits in his mouth. "He doesn't feel too comfortable around anyone."

"The school has a programme for students taking the NEWTs with small children." Hermione supplied. "You know, for those who got married young and studied at home, or didn't use contraceptive Potions? Teddy could stay there, and maybe Severus could-"

"Oh, nonsense." Mrs. Weasley cleaned Teddy's high chair tray off with a flick. "I am sure Arthur and Severus are getting along fine outside – you say Severus was raised in a Muggle household? I am sure he is right in his comfort zone, explaining to Arthur how those plugs work."

_Most Muggles don't know how plugs work. Severus isn't going to volunteer any information. Severus doesn't have a comfort zone._ All the comebacks piled on top of each other, though in the end, Harry thought it wise not to use any of them.

Mr. Weasley came through the back door, stamping mud from the earlier rain off his boots. "Don't worry, Harry – I didn't lose him."

Harry stood up. "He doesn't like the dark." Harry said quickly, before panic could set in.

That didn't seem to surprise Mr. Weasley like it seemed to surprise the others – after all, how could the dungeon bat be afraid of the dark? "He offered to bring the plugs into the shed by himself, expressing his concerns that he did not want me to miss any of the party – I was under the impression that we were to let him do a bit of work if he wanted to do it."

Harry did not sit back down yet. "And he knows he's supposed to come back in as soon as he's done?"

"I lingered for a bit, to make sure he was all right. He will be back inside any moment." Mr. Weasley popped a biscuit in his mouth – it was evident where the Weasley children (save Percy) got their manners.

"Harry, we read the fine print of the Auror applications." Ron said.

"_We_?" Hermione looked scandalous.

Ron shrugged. "I read it – I just didn't understand it. But it said that in some cases, some NEWTs in some subjects are _way-ived_. Like, you know – we might not need good NEWT grades in Potions."

That was the best news Harry had heard in some time. Severus had expressed no interest in Potions, ands Harry had not really mentioned it – having a Potions Master under his roof had done nothing for his grades. "All right!" He high-fived Ron across the table.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The word is 'waived', Ron, and it's pronounced 'wave-d'. And that does not mean the two of you can't study! Suppose they don't let you in, Ron? What will your plan be? Mooching off of your parents?"

"Knowledge in Potions would be very helpful in the law enforcement business. Suppose you're in a situation like the Aurors in Germany were in lately, with that illegal Potions operation? All of the knowledge in the world couldn't keep you from being a spare in that situation, if you were uneducated in Potions."

Harry hated it when others - Hermione - had to kill his joy.

"I'm going to apply for the programme as soon as I finish with my NEWTs." Ron jutted his chest out. "What say you, Harry?"

Harry had always assumed that he and Ron would be in the trying Auror training programme together. But could they now? Unless Ron waited for him – what was Harry supposed to do with Severus during the day? Teddy could go to the Weasley's, or a Wizarding daycare where they accepted his usually wild and unpredictable appearance, but Severus… Harry was afraid to leave him unsupervised when he went to bed at night – it was only the charms set that he could hear everything that went on in Severus' room that let him sleep at night. If Severus spent all day alone, he'd come home and find that the Monster Book of Monsters ate Severus because Severus didn't realise he was perfectly entitled to hit his Master's stupid book. Or he'd find Severus had, for once, realised it was better to use the toilet without asking permission rather than soil himself, and then had a heart attack when confronted with the water in the toilet (weirder things had happened).

"I say… have fun." Harry said. He didn't pity himself – he had gotten himself into the situation he was in. He just wished things were different. "I've got people at home who need me."

Hermione beamed at him, probably for his 'maturity', such as it was. "Not to mention that, the first few days of the Auror Training Programme starts away from home."

"Quite right, Hermione." Mr. Weasley refilled Teddy's sippy cup with pumpkin juice whilst his wife placed Teddy on the floor. "It is supposed to get them completely away from their support system, so that they realise how completely dependent they are on their team and themselves. You could end up anywhere, from the Republic of Chad, to the States, to Yakima." He winked in reference of SPEW's inside joke, making fun of Luna.

_You're going to spend the next couple months – hell, years, even – home. All day, every day. While all your friends are having jobs and fun, you're going to be cleaning spit-up._ Harry, again, did not regret his decisions- he loved Teddy (and Severus?), and Severus' health was important to him. It just wasn't fun.

"Who knows, Harry?" Ron tried being optimistic. "Everything always works out for you. You'll probably end up being accepted into the programme, and I won't."

Fat chance that Harry Potter's best friend wouldn't get accepted in on name alone, regardless of what Percy said. "Yeah, maybe." Harry looked around the room, and his eyes fell on the standard clock, the one that actually told what time it was – it had been at least ten minutes since Mr. Weasley had come inside.

He pushed back from the table. "I've got to go check on Severus – be back in a few minutes."

Knowing the luck of Harry and Severus combined, Lucius Malfoy, along with Crabbe, Goyle, and whoever else had escaped slavery, had probably circled and killed Severus as soon as Mr. Weasley had left.

Harry went out into the yard .He looked to see Severus crouched down on the ground, behind a bush.

"Severus?" He called quietly. He couldn't say it or anything else louder than that. If he did, Severus would get spooked and probably start doing something like accidental magic, or even worse, start to think Harry was angry at him.

Severus turned around quickly, falling flat on his bum. His eyes were wide in surprise, and what Harry knew now was fright. Not nervousness, but at least not extreme terror. Just fright. "Yes, Master?" Severus said, quietly.

Harry inwardly sighed. He hated that term. Hated it. Severus would have to start calling him something different, eventually. That "Master" thing was never going to work."I was just checking up on you. You've been out here awhile."

Severus bit his lip, casting his eyes downward. "I apologise, Master. You may punish me however you deem-"

"Now, none of that." Harry lightly chastised, squatting down so that he was eye-level with Severus. Actually, Severus was a bit taller than him, even though Harry was crouching and Severus was sitting. Life really wasn't fair. "What are you doing back here?"

Severus glanced behind the bush and back at Harry. "Watching, Master."

"Watching." Harry repeated, shifting his position."Watching what?"

Severus didn't want to tell Harry, that much was obvious. He kept looking behind the bush and back at Harry. But he spoke with a great sigh, answering Harry nearly immediately. "I found a cat that had kittens. I... I was just watching, sir. That is all. Just watching." He cowered, as if he thought Harry, for some reason, thought that watching a cat and its kittens was a crime worthy of hanging.

"Oh, let me see!" Harry said, smiling, moving past Severus so that he could see. Indeed, lying behind the bush was a mother cat, licking five small kittens, who were nestled at her chest, suckling off her.

"They are so small!" Harry breathed in awe. "How old do you think they are?"

"Perhaps a day or so. Surely no older than a week." Severus responded quietly.

Harry smiled, turning away from them to smile at Severus. Severus was looking down at his lap, trembling slightly.

"What's the matter, Severus? Are you cold?" Harry asked, pulling off his jacket to lay over Severus' shoulders.

"No, sir." Severus answered quietly, causing Harry to cease in his taking off the jacket.

"What is it, then?" Harry asked."Don't you like the kittens? They are adorable! I'm so glad you found them!"

Severus slowly raised his eyes to meet Harry's. "You are, Master?" He quickly reverted his eyes to his lap, jumping slightly as if spooked. Harry knew where that had come from, though. He had made eye contact with Harry. He thought he wasn't allowed to make eye contact with Harry.

Harry reached out and lightly touched the man's chin, bringing Severus' face up gently so that Severus' eyes met Harry. "I do." Harry said. "Look at me - do I look as if I'm lying?" Severus taught Harry more about reading body language more than anyone had, ever. Severus would still know. That kind of thing was probably not lost no matter how much torture you went through.

Severus shook his head. "No, sir."

"Good." Harry smiled, letting his hand fall from Severus' chin. "What do you think we should do with them? Do you think we should leave them here or... or what?"

"I do believe - if you think it is a good idea - that they should be brought inside." Severus looked back down at his lap, starting to fidget with his hands. "Otherwise an owl could get them or they might freeze."

It was June, but freezing made sense - the little bodies of the kitties could get too cold with a bit of rain. "All right - how do you think we should get them inside?"

Severus paused. "Sir, I do think that we should... or I should... I do think it would be a good idea to ask Master and Mistress Weasley first. They might get... angry if I bring animals into their house without permission."

"Severus, no one is allowed to punish you but me. And you know that I never want to do that, ever, if I can avoid it."

"Yes, sir."

"I think that's a good idea. I guess we should take the mum kitty inside, too, don't you think? Maybe we could get a cage or something for them." He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

Sure enough, horror crossed Severus' face, but it was quickly schooled into an expression of indifference. "If you think that is best, Master."

"What do _you _think is best, Severus."

"To take the mother cat inside, and to put them in a cage." Severus recited what Harry said, nearly word for word.

Harry shook his head. "I said that, Severus. I know you disagree with me. I don't have a problem with you disagreeing with me, ever, all right? We've discussed this. If I ask you your opinion, I really want to know it. If you disagree with me, say so."

Severus nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Well?" Harry prodded. He knew that they would probably end up sitting the kittens in a corner or in a nice box or something, but having Severus say it as his own idea was important. So that they were doing Severus' idea, not Harry's. Severus had to know that his opinion really did matter to Harry. And truthfully, it was invaluable. He needed to know Severus' opinion because even as frightened, damaged, and deranged as Severus was at this point, he was _still _smarter than Harry.

"I do believe it would be a good idea to move the mother cat inside, so that she may feed them, but perhaps we should try a crate. A crate with no lid, so that the mother cat may leave her offspring? Not for good, but just for a break." Severus added hurriedly. "It would be good for her not to be locked up."

Harry nodded. "I agree. It's wrong for anyone or anything to be locked up, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and offered his hand to Severus. "Let's go inside and ask Mrs. Weasley if we can take them inside, mmm?"

Severus looked hesitantly at Harry's hand, and then back up to Harry, who nodded. With great reluctance, he grasped Harry's hand.

Harry pulled Severus to his feet, pretending not to notice how much weight Severus had likely not gained back, and how Severus did not lend Harry much of his weight at all as he stood.

Severus let go of Harry's hand as soon as he could, staring down at the ground as if ashamed.  
Harry gently grabbed Severus by Severus' elbow. "Do you want to keep a kitty when it gets bigger?" Harry asked Severus. "Maybe we can ask the Weasleys. I'll bet that they say 'yes'."

Severus bit his lip as they walked to the house. "If that is what you want, sir."

"Only if you do. Do you like kitties?"

There was a long pause. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Then we'll ask. And if she says 'no', we'll just get one at a pet shop or something." Kittens were valuable if they had magical blood in them, which the cat and the kitties likely had. The Weasleys could profit from them, definitely. Not a lot, but enough to perhaps pay for some things that they desperately needed to pay for. Even with six kids moved out, and only one at home, who was paying for most of her own expenses anyhow, the Weasleys were still struggling to make ends meet, as they were very generous with the small amounts they did get. But Harry knew that they would not hesitate to give Severus all the kitties, if they thought it would be good for him.

* * *

"Do you want to keep a kitty when it gets bigger?" Master asked, leading Severus in the house by Severus' elbow. "Maybe we can ask the Weasleys. I bet that they say 'yes'."

_Of course I want to keep one, _Severus wanted to exclaim. But he couldn't. What if Master did what the Monster did and saw that every time Severus liked an animal, and killed it? Severus would not be able to bear to watch all of those innocent kittens die. He couldn't. He didn't think Master would make him eat the kittens like the Monster had with the insects, but Master did a lot of things he didn't understand, sometimes. But the truth had to be told...

"If that is what you want, sir." Severus said, inwardly pleased with his response. Better safe than sorry, as the Muggles liked to say.

"Only if you do." Master responded. Master liked to do that. he liked to manipulate Severus' emotions, toying with them, trying to make Severus say things he wasn't supposed to say. "Do you like kitties?"

_Just say it and close your eyes if he decides to hurt the kitties, _Severus decided. _And Master would not do that. Mr. Weasley might, but Master would never do that. Master is too kind to animals._

"Yes, sir." He admitted. He did want a kitten. If he had a kitten - even though it would be really Master's kitten and not his own - he could talk to it whenever he wanted, and say whatever he wanted to say to it. He could pet it, and feed it. He could care for it, and not have to worry about doing anything wrong. He knew how to take care of a kitten, and Master would not even notice there was a kitten in the house. Severus would keep it out of trouble. He would.

"Good. Then we'll ask. And if she says 'no', we'll just get one at a pet shop or something."

The trip inside the house was far too short for Severus. Outside, walking with Master, he had been able to entertain himself with thoughts of having a pet. Whether it was a kitten, rat, or a simple beetle, he could take care of it. He could talk to it. It would be so much better than being all alone at Master's. He was not really alone at Master's - there was Master Teddy. But he was still not sure what he was allowed to say to Master Teddy or not. Master Teddy was, like it or not, above him, as he was Master's child. But sometimes, it seemed Severus was supposed to supervise him. It made no sense to Severus.

The kitchen of the Weasley home was impossibly bright compared to the darkness outdoors. Mrs. Weasley was bustling around the kitchen, doing Merlin only knew what, whilst the Masters Weasley and Mistress Granger were seated in the sitting room, reading the newspaper, books, occasionally chuckling over something that was said on the wireless.

"Oh, Harry, Severus!" Mistress Weasley exclaimed. "I was wondering if you had gotten eaten by a dragon or something!"

Severus watched Master smile at that. He knew Master was likely thinking the same thing that Severus was - that Mater would not have to worry about being killed by a dragon, because it was Severus' duty to protect his master. Though if it were a dragon, it would kill him, because Severus didn't have a wand. He forgot what happened to it, when he lost it. He couldn't remember. It still hurt him to think about, though. He missed it. Even if he never did magic again, he wished he could have it, just to hold, just to feel the hum, just to remember all the times it had been on his side.

"No, no dragons. Just kitties." Master informed Mistress Weasley.

"Kitties?" Mistress Granger asked, coming into the room, her arms crossed over the book which she was holding against her chest.

The younger Master Weasley moaned. "God, more Crookshanks. The last thing we need!"

Master nodded, beaming. "A cat had a litter of kitties in the yard. Severus found them and was taking care of them."

Severus looked down at his feet when he felt all the eyes in the room on him. He didn't like to be looked at. It made him feel nervous.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Mistress Weasley clapped her hands together. "Arthur, did you hear?"

The elder Master Weasley nodded from the kitchen. "I heard. Where are they now, Harry?"

"Still outside. We wanted to know if maybe we could bring them inside? Severus thought in a crate or something. He thinks it would be a bad idea for them to stay outside where they could get eaten or lost or frozen or something, and I agree with him."

What was Master doing? Why did he keep complimenting him? Severus nervously began to dig his toes around on the hardwood floor. He was glad Master didn't make him wear shoes. They hurt too much.

"Oh, of course!" Mistress Weasley said.

"How many are they? What colour are they?" Mistress Granger asked, putting her book on the table.

"They are black and white." "Master said. "And there are five, right Severus?"

Severus bit his lip. Master had only seen five? Severus had counted six. "Perhaps I miscounted, sir. I apologise."

"Miscounted?" All eyes were on Severus again. He wished he had a place to hide from them at in the bright kitchen. "How many did you count?"

"Six, sir."

"Six!" Master exclaimed. "Well, there's probably six, then."

"Great!" Mistress Granger said, grabbing a wooden crate with the words "WEASLEYS WHEEZES CO." printed on it in dancing orange letters. "Let's go bring them in!"

"Hold a sec, 'Mione." Master said with a slight smile, ignoring the younger Master Weasley's moans. "Severus, didn't you want to ask Mrs. Weasley something?"

Severus really wanted a corner to hide in."Yes, Master." He admitted, quietly.

"What is it, Severus?" Mistress Weasley smiled.

"Mistress Weasley..." he tried. "Master thought that since there were so _many _kittens that you might let..." how was he supposed to ask? He couldn't say "let me have one" very well, could he? He did not have anything, not the clothes on his back, the hairs on his head, the blood in his veins... but Master had said that _he _could have a kitten. Which meant that he was supposed to say "let me have one", he supposed.

"That is, if you do not mind, do you think that it might be possible..." Oh Merlin, he didn't know what to say. He wasn't supposed to be asking for things. It was wrong. He was just supposed to accept what was given to him. He couldn't ask... no, it was wrong.

He dropped to his knees on reflex, nearly. "Forgive me, Master." He said hoarsely. He couldn't believe his stupidity. Of course Master hadn't been serious. If anything, he had just been trying to make conversation. That was what his other master had done - when he wasn't using Severus, he had liked to make conversation. That was why he had let Severus sit at the table that time. That and because he was a very good and kind master that Severus hadn't deserved.

He felt his Master stiffen. He buried his face in his master's robes. Master had not been punishing him much so far. Perhaps he would punish him very badly this time. That would be a somewhat welcome change, Severus had to admit. If the horrible punishment would just hurry up and come, Severus would at least know what to expect from Master.

"Severus, it's okay." Master's voice was soft. He flinched when he felt Master's hands touch his head, but only as a reflex. Master never grasped Severus' hair to pull him to his feet. Master had only ever touched Severus' hair when washing it. But now, Master was running his fingers through it, as if to be calming... and calming, it definitely was. It has nowehre near the affect that touching his forehead did. No, combing fingers through his hair was purely psychological... his other Master had done that when Severus had been a good pet...

Severus flinched away from Master. Master was not like his other Master. Master would not sell Severus. Master did not use Severus yet. Both masters had been kind, but they were different.

"See, Severus decided that he really liked the kitties." Master said. He stopped stroking Severus' head, but kept his hand there.

Severus buried his face deeper in his master's robes. He couldn't see when he was doing that. It felt like he was hiding,

"Oh." Mistress Weasley responded.

"Yeah, so he was going to ask if maybe, when they are old enough to be away from their mum, if he could keep one." Master said, calmly. He didn't sound angry at all. Just... normal.

Severus peeked out of his master's robes, but when he saw Master smiling at him, he buried his face back in the robes. Master never did anything mean or bad when he smiled, but smiles were always bad. Always.

"Oh, of course!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Is that all? Of course he's welcome to a kitten! He can choose whatever one he likes!"

Severus' breath caught in his throat. What was the catch? What kind of work did he have to do in return? What price would he pay if he did get to keep a kitten?

"See, Severus - I told you they'd say 'yes'." Master said, taking a small step back wards, so that Severus couldn't hide his face in his robes any longer. "You're not in trouble. It's okay. Come on, let's go get the kitties."

Severus looked from Master to the Weasleys, then back to Master, before looking down on the floor. He had to think... what was he supposed to do? Just stand up and lead Master and Mistress Granger to the kittens?

Well, that would be easy enough. There weren't many catches in there. Just get up and go to the kittens, help put them in a crate, and put them perhaps by the fire. Easy. There were no places to put a catch in there. Master simply wanted help. He could do that.

Harry picked up a white kitty and passed it to Hermione, who sat it in the crate that Severus crouched next to.

"Ugh, they are slimy." Hermione commented, sitting the kitty down in the crate.

Harry nodded, making a slight face. They were. Even though the mum cat had apparently licked them off, they still had a slimy feel to them. "Yeah." He said, passing Hermione the black one. "Almost as bad as Potions ingredients." He laughed, glancing at Severus. Severus didn't even seem to hear him - he looked as if entranced at the kitties in the crate.

"Which one do you want, Severus?" Harry spoke, reaching out to grab the one he hadn't seen before. It was white, with black paws and tips. When he picked it up, it felt slimier than the rest, as if the mum cat hadn't clean it off well enough. "G- ick." He said.

"'Gik'?" Ron snorted, who stood behind them, watching them. He did not like kitties in the slightest.

Harry flushed. "Um, I was going to say 'gross' but then I said 'ick'." He explained.

"That one." Severus put his hand in the crate and gently stroked the black and white kitten with his index finger.

Harry grinned, passing another kitty to Hermione. "He's a cute one, isn't he?"

Severus seemed to be in his own little world there, and not paying attention to the conversation.

"What do you want to name it, Severus?" Harry attempted to draw Severus into the conversation

He kept quietly stroking the kitty. "Gik." He said, so softly Harry could hardly hear up.

Harry's jaw dropped open, whilst Hermione just turned to look at Harry with a grin on her face. "Gik?" He repeated. "But I... I was just... I wasn't suggesting a name when I said 'gik' - it was just a mistake. Stuttering! I didn't mean you had to name him something-"

Hermione nudged him in the ribs before he could say 'weird'. "I think it's a great name, Severus." Hermione said encouragingly, smiling at Severus, who looked up at Harry and Hermione with uncertainty.

_Gik. The poor kitty._ Harry nodded. "Great name."

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...**

Chapter Forty Seven: _Koing's Potion_


	47. Koing's Potion

1**Disclaimer: **I did not create "Harry Potter". I am making no money from this story.

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

"**Koing's Potion"**

**

* * *

**

The red and brown feathers ruffled. The clawed feet shifted. The head of the beast turn to face - its eyes held a certain evil that only that species could manage.

"It is a nice looking owl." Severus answered his master's question of 'what do you think'. In an attempt to give a more through answer, he added, "She looks very capable."

Inwardly, he felt pleased with himself, with that particular answer. The owl, despite Severus' misgivings with the beast, and shame on himself for apparently not being capable of letter and package delivery, did have a nice feather pattern. The sheer size of the beast indicated that it would be a handy and reliable deliverer. Severus did not lie to his master; he did not show his inward feelings. And so he evaded all punishments from his master.

Master blinked. "Well, yeah. I guess he's pretty capable."

_He._ Severus admonished himself. Honestly, saying a gender when he was uncertain. Foolish. Had he referred to Bianca as a 'he', Mistress would have cut Severus' tongue out.

"I apologise Master. _He._" Severus touched his forehead to the ground. "Please punish me in whatever way you deem fit."

"That's all right." Master lowered the arm on which the owl perched. "I feel kind of bad for getting a new owl, but like Luna says, it's not like I'm replacing her. I'm just..." Master sighed. "Okay, so the rest of the sentence doesn't make sense to me." He yawned. "Teddy, you sleepy?"

Master Teddy never did much talking, but he did exercise his freedom to use the word Severus could not. "No!" The baby shrieked, his face turning to a disturbing shade of purple.

"All right." Master said, holding the owl out to Severus. "It's time for Teddy to take a nap. Can you put the owl away for me?"

_Of course for you,_ Severus thought._ I will do anything for you. _

"Yes, sir." Severus reluctantly held up his right arm next to Master's, so that the unnamed owl could move to Severus' arm.

It was not that Severus particularly disliked owls; they disliked _him_. They always had - Severus' grandmother on the Prince side had owned a beautiful pure white one that had tried to kill Severus the one and only time Severus had met said grandmother, when Severus was three years old. Severus' family had been unable to afford robes second-hand, much less a familiar for him. Nevertheless, he, as a tiny eleven-year-old, had vested the owl shop I Dagon alley, and had been kicked out by the owner from 'disturbing the owls' - all Severus had done was walk in.

Becoming an Animagus, with his Animagus form being a bird that was _not_ an owl, sealed the deal. Severus would never get along with innocent-looking, highly-dangerous birds. Never.

But Master was not asking Severus to get along with the bird

(_Occlumency shields. Do not think about the past. Never the past. Shame on you for forgetting)._

He was asking Severus to put the bird away in a cage. Which Severus might be able to do if Master stayed in the room. Which Master was not planning to.

It took quite a bit of coaxing from Master to get the bird's claws on Severus' arm. Severus tried to stand quickly, in order to get the bird in the cage before Master left.

He promptly stumbled on his long black robes.

Master turned from kneeling on the floor, picking up Master Teddy's toys. His green eyes appraised Severus carefully. "Severus, are you sure you can do this?"

"Yes, sir." Severus strode over to the cage, ignoring the terrible pain in his feet. He put the owl into the cage in rather rushed movements, to guarantee his own safety from the beast. He was not guaranteed that his eyeballs would be replaced once pecked out.

Master nodded. Slowly. Doubtfully. "Thank you, Severus." Master picked up the complaining child as he stood, placing him on his hip. "You're pretty capable, too."

Severus ducked his head, putting his eyes to his bare feet (where they should have been all along). It was quite a rare time when he was complimented by anyone. He was not sure the appropriate way a slave should handle that.

"Why don't you take a nap, too?" Master suggested. "It normally helps you be less-"he didn't finish his sentence. "I'll be back."

Severus waited for his master to leave, before turning to the owl, with a scowl on his face. "You are the one that ranks higher. I would suggest being kinder and less troublesome than those weaker than you. I would do the same for you."

Owl did not seem to agree, keeping the typical attitude one got from owls. He hooted snootily before taking a fair chunk of flesh from Severus' hand, which rested on the cage.

Severus pulled his hand away, letting out a hiss as he did so. He was a slave who had gone through many owners, and consequently, he was quite used to pain, but still fought the urge not to hiss, scream, or use a steady stream of words that he was not to use, as was inappropriate for a slave to utter such uncouth language, in public or in private.

Nor could he respond to Master's owl the way he would like to, for the simple reason that he was Mater's bird. Severus has already stepped out of line as it was, or had at least gotten fairly close to it.

"I apologise!" Severus apologised, looking down at his hand. A good amount of flesh had been bitten off his palm, which was one of the meatiest parts of his body. It was bleeding rather profusely. Not a dangerous amount, of course, but it was still enough to spill over Master's carpet, a sin Severus highly doubted would be easily forgiven - he still cringed at the blood and semen he had gotten all over Mistress' pure white carpet (no wonder she had been so eager to sell him).

When an injury was not inflicted on a slave by one's owner, or one with direct authority to discipline, anyone - including the slave - could heal the injury. If Master had sliced Severus' hand, there would be only two ways to heal the cut - beg Master to heal it, or let it do it on its own, over time. But here, Severus had options; were he allowed to do magic, he could do it himself. He could ask someone else to heal it. He could sprinkle cayenne pepper or a Potion on it to stop the bleeding. He did not even have to ask permission to heal it.

Cayenne pepper and Potions were out of the question - Severus did not know if Master had any, and more importantly, Severus did not want to ask. He was already incompetent enough of late, he had noticed. He did not need his master to think that Severus was not capable of putting a bird away. He was.

Before Severus could make a decent plan to stop himself from spilling blood all over the floor, he heard the familiar whistle of the Floo.

He startled at the sound, but it did not take him long to act. In fact, he did so instinctively, kneeling down on the floor, taking his wound out of his mouth and into the long voluminous sleeves of his robes. Whoever was coming out of the Floo was not one who Severus wanted to see him foolish mistake.

_Perhaps this is why Master spoke of taking a nap,_ Severus realised. _He did not wish for his slave to be present during his visit. Perhaps it is a slave trader or-_

Master Arthur Weasley stepped out of the green flames, coughing, and dusting soot of his patched green robes. "Harry, you ought to have someone clean out this Floo."

Floos rarely needed cleaned if they were used as a Floo only. It was when the fireplace was using for cooking and heat as well - as most Wizarding fireplaces were - that you ran into trouble.

Master Weasley blinked the ashes out of his eyes. "Oh... Severus. Hello - how are you?"

Severus knelt his head to the ground, and greeted Master Weasley. He didn't answer the question on how he was - surely that was a question that did not _really_ require an answer.

"Is Harry home?" Master Weasley cocked his head, looking at Severus. "Are you all right?"

That question was not routine, as the 'how are you' had been. Master Weasley meant that question.

"Master is upstairs, putting Master Teddy abed." Severus explained. His throbbing palm was spilling blood in the slave of his black robes. He paused, not quite sure how to properly answer the next question. "And yes, Master Weasley."

Master Weasley's expression brightened. "Oh, so I should wait for him, then. And you can call me 'Arthur', you know. There's too many 'Master Weasley's to keep us all from getting confused."

The man was right. It could be confusing for people to have Severus address several people with one name - there were six Master Weasleys, after all. Severus had never called someone above him by merely their first name, but Severus had heard of some slaves doing it.

_If Master Weasley asked you to call him 'Master Arthur', surely that is the right thing to do._

Severus nodded. "Yes, Master Arthur - I will endeavor to. And Master will be happy to visit you shortly - would you like a seat?"

Severus' face burned with shame as he led Master Arthur to the offered seat, then as he left to get him the glass of water Master Arthur had requested. How foolish of him to ask Master Weas- Arthur to sit right away. He had not received company since Master and Mistress', but being out of practise was not an excuse. It was inexcusable, past punishment, even - Severus was obviously too much of a numbskull to be a decent house-slave, and what a pity that was, because a well-trained, well-mannered, intelligent, and attractive house-slave could sell for quite a fortune. Severus was not attractive, but he had been under the false impression that he had been the rest.

He had been called 'stupid' enough in recent times, by owners and bystanders, to know the truth. And the truth was that he was not a candidate for any of the popular slave positions - even being at the breeders required being fertile, and knowing Severus' luck, he was not.

In a desperate attempt to remedy the bleak realisation of his life (slaves sold more than once usually had the dishonour of serving many owners throughout their lives), Severus let the hottest water possible run from the tap onto his injured hand. The burning received was painful, though nowhere near enough punishment for him, to make a big enough impression on his brain - he wondered if there was one.

* * *

"Mr. Weasley!" Harry exclaimed in shock. He hadn't heard the Floo - Teddy's room was warded against incoming noise.

But he did not seem to have any problems waiting - Severus seemed to have done well with the company. Mr. Weasley had a glass of water, a cool one, judging by the precipitation dripping from the glass. He looked to be quite comfortable, sitting there on the sofa.

Mr. Weasley smiled and nodded at Harry. "Hello, Harry - Severus and I were just having a conversation on that lovely new owl of yours." Mr. Weasley paused before adding, "Severus has been very hospitable- you've got yourself a good helper."

Appreciation for Mr. Weasley flooded through Harry. Mr. Weasley understood like no one else did, or seemed to. Anyone else might have tried to talk to Severus as the Potions Professor, or as the pitied slave. Severus did not need any of that - he needed to be treated like a person. He didn't need anyone to push the slave thing, but he didn't need anyone to act like it hadn't happened, either, that it could be 'fixed'. Harry wasn't so great at making that balance, but he was getting better. Judging how comfortable Mr. Weasley seemed to be around Severus, Harry could take a leaf from his book.

"He is." Harry nodded at Severus with a small smile. He could have said something corny like, "I see him as a slave, not a helper" but Severus would be able to see right through that. Severus needed to feel appreciated, not confused about what he was.

_For now_, Harry thought, taking a seat in the armchair across from Mr. Weasley. There was no way to guarantee that Severus would ever be 'normal' again. The therapist had reasoned that it was unfair to blame him, or expect him to - Severus would always be a slave, and to pretend that he wasn't one would do more harm than good, potentially. But that didn't mean that when Severus was more stable mentally, Harry wouldn't try to shift from 'slave' to 'friend', or even 'favourite servant'.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. His eyes were serious. "I have something very important to discuss with you. Both of you, actually."

Harry glanced over at Severus, who sat on his heel, his eyes downcast. Anything important that involved Severus could easily be bad news - Harry didn't know how it could be _good_ news.

"It's not... bad news, is it?" Harry tentatively asked.

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I don't know how either of you will take it. Don't worry," Mr. Weasley turned and assured an outwardly unemotional Severus, "You'll be here with Harry for a long time."

Snape would have shuddered. Severus uttered a quiet 'yes, sir'.

Mr. Weasley took a deep breath. "I have been using my connections at the Ministry, and back issues of _the Prophet_ to research different things that have gone on since September. About your various owners, Severus."

Harry could have been mistaken, but he thought he saw Severus lower his head a bit more.

"Koing was a Potions dealer. An illegal Potions dealer. The same one hunted by the Germans a few months back." Mr. Weasley announced.

Harry's eyes widened. Growing up in the Muggle world, he had heard about illegal drugs - illegal Potions were essentially the same, only worse. Harry didn't get or read _The Prophet_, but he had heard something about a big Potions scandal. He hadn't known the guy doing it was Koing, though - especially _that _Koing.

_Oh, God,_ Harry was filled with a sick dread._ What if Severus brewed his Potions for him? What if Severus is in trouble for doing that? _Severus had never talked about anything, much less, his old owners and experiences there. Not even in therapy did he say much of anything.

_Shite. What if I'm in trouble? What if... I think I read somewhere that if the slave does something wrong, if ordered by the owner, than it's the owner who is looking at prison. Shite. Shite. Shite. What if the Ministry fucks up and blames me? It wouldn't be the first time. That would mean Teddy would have nowhere to go. Severus would have nowhere to go. Shite. Shite. Shite._

Harry swallowed hard. "D-D-Did you know anything about this, Severus?"

Severus stiffened at being addressed. His response delayed, he finally said, "no, sir."

"They caught him late last week." Mr. Weasley said. "The name, James A. Koing, was the same name as the one on Severus' papers. _The Prophet_ article did say that there was one person found in the house. A slave."

Harry nodded. That slave was Severus. "But... how is this important? I mean, with us? Now?"

Mr. Weasley took a deep breath. He looked at Severus, as if he wasn't sure about something. "The Potions Koing made induce a certain amount of euphoria and energy in those that take it. It makes-"

"-them high. Gives them a certain 'buzz'." Harry had never taken Potions like that himself but had heard plenty of guys talk about it.

"Not quite." Mr. Weasley said. "Imagine only needing an hour of sleep a night, having plenty of energy in the day. Needing to eat so little, that it's more of a struggle to remember to eat enough to stay alive rather than having to watch your weight. Having your brain work so fast, and so _well_."

Harry would give just about anything to only need one hour of sleep a night. He could put Severus and Teddy to bed at eight, write a book, study for the Auror programme, learn three new spells, make breakfast, and be energetic for Teddy and helpful to Severus, in a way he couldn't now. Not that he really wanted to write a book, but if he had a Potion like that, he could.

"But that's not why it's illegal. Said Potions are illegal because of one ingredient - they found body parts and skeletons in the house, buried in the lot..." his voice trailed, looking back at Severus.

Severus was staring blankly at his knees. He had his long thin hands crossed over his knees, concealed by the long sleeves of the robe Severus wore/ He did not even seem troubled at all by Mr. Weasley's words... or even realised what they meant. It was as if he were not listening at all...

_Damn._

Body parts? They found bodies? Body parts were used in Potions? Human Body parts? Flobberworm mucous was one thing, but human toes? Harry felt sick - he did not have a particularly weak stomach, so it was not the gore that made him feel sick, but that someone would knowingly drink and/or buy a Potion that someone had literally died for.

"Koing's main product was pink." Mr. Weasley continued.

Harry thought back to one of Snape's lectures. Something about how Potions magically turned different colours, when brewed correctly, and what those colours symbolised. Green, he could remember, represented-

"It wasn't a colour stemming from magic. It was tainted from blood." Mr. Weasley said, grimly. "The specifications are very, well, specific. The blood must be obtained by a dead person who was not murdered. A body that has been dead for even a few hours, you must understand, has blood that is rather... tacky. Congealed. Koing needed fresh victims."

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I do not know what Koing did to obtain all of those bodies, Harry, but he had records of purchasing many slaves - only three are both accounted for and living... save..." he sighed. "Do you understand?"

_Hell_. Harry was pretty sure he did. How did someone kill someone without really killing them? Without _directly_ killing them? No poison, no killing curse, no guns or swords.

Severus' screams in the night, and the terrible scars on his body, suddenly made a whole lot more sense.

* * *

The day finished in almost complete silence. Neither Severus nor Harry spoke much at all, even little Teddy seemed to sense that he should be quiet.

Finally though, as Harry and Severus were finishing up their suppers, Harry found it time to break the silence.

"Severus, when Mr. Weasley came over this afternoon, why do you think he came?" Harry tried to act casually.

Severus had finished with his plain porridge and nutritive Potion, like usual, within a minute or two. He was always acting like as thought Harry would take it away. "I had hoped he would bring Gik, but he came, I do believe to give you information, Master."

_Wow. That had almost been conversational._ "You can have your kitty soon, not too long now. And he did have something to tell me. He had wanted to explain to me something I didn't know... Severus, do you know a man by the name of Koing?"

"I do not believe so, sir."

"Are you sure?" Harry persisted. Though the two rarely spoke, Harry knew Severus would not intentionally lie to him. "You were never owned by a man with the last name 'Koing'?" Harry paused. "He was German."

Severus gave a long silence. The house itself had gone silent, save for Teddy's meaningless chatter to himself.

"That may be possible, sir." Severus finally said.

Does he know the names of his owners? It had never occurred to Harry, but it could very well be - Severus just called Harry 'Master'.

"Do you know the names of the people who have owned you in the past?" Harry pressed. "There was Mering, I know, the guy who trained you. There were the Westons..."

"Yes, sir." Severus quietly acknowledged.

Who was Harry trying to kid? He wasn't a doctor or a shrink, or a therapist. All he knew about mental health care came from _the Road to Recovery_ - which he still hadn't finished. Even if Severus wanted to talk about his experience at Koing's, where he had likely been tortured terribly by the man, Harry could only listen. He didn't know how to straighten out the mess in Severus' mind. Especially Severus' mind. Despite being on a one-sided first name basis, despite technically owning Severus' mind, Harry had not forgotten that Severus was still much smarter than him.

He sighed. "Kong bought slaves and kidnapped people to use for his Potions. I just thought, you know, if you ever want to talk about it... you know."

Severus then did something he very rarely did, something that surprised Harry - he looked up, making eye contact with him.

Harry sat stock still, not wanting to move lest he spook Severus.

_It's like he's appraising me, like he's trying to figure out my true motive._

Harry was right.

"You would prefer not to speak of this now." Severus' voice was steady, with no question. "You're not comfortable with the situation."

Harry gaped at him. That was true - Harry didn't want to talk about it. Ever. He knew it was a good thing that Mr. Weasley had come and given insight to Severus' situation, but that didn't mean that it was going to be any fun to waddle through the muddy mess that it made. Harry had to talk about it with Severus, though, if Severus ever had any hopes of getting better.

_He's got more of a chance now than he did then_, Harry reminded himself. _Now, we don't have to be completely vague about everything. We know better what happened. Which means Severus might be able to work through the issue faster - or at all._

"It doesn't matter what I'm comfortable with." Harry held up his hands, signaling how his hands were tied. "There are some things that, at some point, you're going to want - need - to talk about with me. Or Mr. Weasley. OR, you know, Hermione, or- hey! Dr. Brown! Your therapist! She'd be next to perfect!" Harry sighed. "You understand what I'm saying?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, Master. I do believe I do. Sir, may I rise to do the dishes?"

Why was it that whenever Severus spoke even if to ask to do a chore, he always looked worried, like he thought Harry was going to smack him?

Harry waved his hand towards the sink. "Go for it." He pushed his barely touched plate away from him.

The numerous records on Severus did not like, Harry knew that. Magical records did not lie - they couldn't lie. When Severus had been sold to Koing, he was okay, in terms of scars. Not scar-free, of course, but he was nothing like he was now. Weston - or someone - and performed a spell to rid him of all scars, the night before he had been sold to Koing. Meaning the hundreds of terrible scars littering Severus' body had all come from Koing or Muller. Hermione or someone else from SPEW had said that only the owner could remove scars they inflicted. Koing was the only owner of Severus' who hadn't had time. He had been one of the only masters who really did not care.

Harry stared into space, mulling over all of this. Or more accurately, he was staring at the sink without even really looking at it. But that changed when Severus lifted the sleeves of his robes to do the dishes, revealing the Dark Mark that Harry was plenty used to seeing these days, plenty of white and pink raised scars, And an injury on the palm of his hands that could only be new.

"Severus!" Harry exclaimed, causing both Severus and teddy to startle.

"Yes Master?" Severus turned and bowed his head low. His hands, now hidden by the long sleeves of his robe, were crossed in front of him.

_God, Harry, be harsh, why don't you?_ He needed to stop being so loud - it always made Severus act like he was in trouble.

"You're not in trouble." Harry said as a precaution. The words did not seem to put Severus at ease. "I just saw something on your hand - can I see it?"

Severus hesitated, before reluctantly listing up his right hand for Harry to examine. Harry couldn't see his expression, because Severus' head was bowed, but he knew it was more than likely one of terror - it almost always was.

The bond, long hand was covered in a lot of small, thin scars. Few were raised - most looked no more severe than a paper cut. But in that case, it looked like the hand had endured quite a few paper cuts - and paper cuts hurt. That wasn't counting the much defined scars that circled around the base of Severus' fingers.

But the palm was fine.

_You're not an idiot - you may be tired and stressed, but you're not hallucinating._ Something was there. But on the other hand.

The notion was ridiculous. If Severus indeed had an injury, he knew exactly what Harry was talking about when Harry asked to see him his hand. If Severus wanted to hide the injury, he would have offered the wrong hand... but that was practically lying, if it wasn't lying. Severus wasn't anything but honest with Harry. He wouldn't try to manoeuvre like that.

Or would he? He's a Slytherin. A slave, but still a Slytherin. A sneaky Slytherin. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin.

Slowly, Harry looked up from the hand to Severus' face. He had to read up with his hand to tap Severus' head up a bit - Severus jerked violently at the unexpected touch, but did tilt his head so Harry could see his face.

Tears were streaming in full down Severus face. Severus' teeth, many now missing and those there still as crooked as ever, though nearly white now that they were being brushed twice daily (which was something Severus had obviously neglected while Harry was in school), pressed into his tender bottom lip, tempting blood to spill over.

Wordlessly, Harry reached for Severus' other hand, and turned it over. There were not only blistering burns on both sides of the hand, but a huge cut. Not even a cut - it looked like someone had cut a piece of skin off of Severus' hand.

"Severus..." Harry was at a loss for words, something had had never been common around Snape or Severus. "Severus, who did this to you? What happened? Why'd you hide this from me? Doesn't it hurt? When did this get here?"

Severus began to shake, as the blood began to spill off his bottom lip. "I-I apologise, Master-Master. I-I-I-"

_-I know._ Harry was so tired of Severus apologising for every little thing. _Though now, I wouldn't really mind an apology_. As much as Harry wanted Severus to be independent, hiding an injury was bad. Unacceptable.

"Don't cry." Harry softened his voice. Once again, he was surprised at the pain it caused him to see Severus so distraught over something like this. "I'd just a small gash. I can fix it in three seconds if you'll let me."

_If you let me._ Harry was tired of Severus trying to give his body over to him. Almost asking permission for it would only confuse Severus, but it wasn't like he wasn't already confused.

The tears fell harder as Severus let out a sob, a sob one might hear from a normal man if his family were snatched before his eyes, but in few other situations. He fell to his knees, bowing his head to nearly the floor, still keeping the injured palm in Harry's lap.

"I am so sorry for lying to you, Master." Severus sobbed. "I-I am so sorry." A hacking cough came from the sobbing. "It was terrible of me, sir. Please, I do not expect forgiveness. I bed you to punish me, sir." _Cough, cough._ "Please, sir."

Harry sat in stunned silence. Of course Severus wasn't crying about his injuries - as painful as they looked, Severus had to be used to it. Now he probably even felt like he deserved them. Of course Severus was crying about being hat he viewed as a bad slave, because too many people had drilled into his head that that was all that mattered. Damn.

Harry knew better than to reach for his wand, which, when aimed in Severus' general direction, gave the man a near heart attack. He instead began patting Severus' injured hand softly, the front of it, where only minor burns were.

"Severus, look at me." Harry said, gently. He put on what he hoped was a kind smile, without showing teeth to avoid showing-too-many-teeth syndrome. He had read in _The Road to Recovery_ that showing too many teeth when smiling could be taken as a sign of dishonesty or insincerity.

Severus complied, his red eyes overflowing with new tears as fresh sobs began. Than his eyes looked away, as if he couldn't stand to look at Harry.

"I'm going to heal your hand, okay?" Harry continued in the same tone. "Without my wand, all right?" He could heal them with Potions if he had paid attention in Snape's class, or if the latest Hogwarts Potions Master, Grant, had had the slightest clue about Potions. But the wandless healing magic (only the basics), he had readily started to absorb in sixth year, when they began teaching it. He hadn't gotten good at it until fairly recently, though.

Without waiting for a reply, which would have never come, anyway, Harry began running his hand slowly up and down Severus arm. He concentrated on the healing power, as he recited the Latin words to heal the burns, blisters and then the gash. He did pretty well, he thought. The skin was still pretty pink as a whole, but if it didn't fade within a few hours, Harry would be surprised- things like that usually did.

Severus continued to cry, though a bit quieter, as Harry got up, cleaned Teddy up, and moved him over to the playpen in the living room. He then went back to the kitchen and wet a clean washcloth. By the time Harry had finished with all of this, Severus had quieted down considerably, though the biting of his lip continued as hard as ever.

"Stop that." Harry commanded trying not to come off as mean. "Give me your lip."

Severus lifted his head and tucked his upper lip behind his bleeding bottom one. His eyes, however, were downcast as the tears silently fell.

Harry held the washcloth to Severus' lip, ignoring the flinching from Severus completely. As the red began to stain the white cloth, Harry began to speak, knowing full well Severus could not talk back with the washcloth to his lip.

"I've been thinking about punishments." Harry said the thoughts he had been thinking while preparing this.

Severus began to shake slowly at first, at those words.

"Normally, I don't want to punish you because what you do, I don't think is wrong." Harry said. "But hiding an injury, and then almost lying about it... Severus, listen - you are allowed to have privacy and secrets. You're _entitled_ to them. But you can't lie to me about things like this. I need to know, so I can heal you."

He didn't add the bit about the ray of hope in this mess, that if Severus was willing to almost lie, then maybe he was better than Harry - and the therapist - thought he was.

He removed to washcloth to examine Severus' broken kip. It was swollen, but no longer bleeding. Healing it would require touch, and touching Severus' lip would probably send him into a panic attack that Harry couldn't deal with properly. Besides, Severus would only break the skin again next time he got upset.

"But I decided all the pain you've been through since, apparently, last night's bath is punishment enough." Harry concluded "What do you think?" He removed the washcloth long enough to Severus to reply.

"Yes, Master." Severus said.

Harry returned the washcloth once again, ignoring the flinching. "Apology accepted then, Severus. Please don't lie, or, you know, almost lie to me, about being hurt again, and we shouldn't have any more problems like this."

"Yes, Master." Severus mumbled from behind the washcloth. "I will never lie to you again."

_Never lie to you again. Again._ Somehow, Harry was pretty sure Severus had missed the point behind Harry's words.

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...**

**Chapter Forty-Eight: **_**Not the Son of That**_

**A/N:** Thank you so much, everyone, for your very kind reviews and support! I am proud to announce that Unwell has been nominated for the 'Best Work in Progress' award at the Deathly Hallows award. I have never been nominated for - or won - anything! Please vote at deathlyhallowsawards. blogspot. com for 'Unwell' by Socks4Dobby - I would really appreciate it.

The name change is permanent - not happening again.


	48. Not the Son of That

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter". I am making no money off of this story, which I claim authorship of.**

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

"**Not the Son of That"**

* * *

Harry knew pain. He had experienced a lot of pain in his eighteen, almost nineteen years. But somehow, every time he was in a significant amount of pain, he wasn't able to brush it off with 'oh, I've been in worse pain'. It didn't make it hurt any less.

He opened his eyes, squinting at the bright light that streamed through the sitting room's window. The light didn't do anything to ease his headache at all – it just made the pounding in his temples worse.

He noticed Severus watching him with a worried, almost curious look in his eyes, and tried to smile – it only made his head hurt worse.

"It's okay, Severus." Harry said, shutting his eyes again to block out the sunlight. "It's just a headache – not my scar or anything, I promise. I'd tell you if it was my scar – I promise."

Actually, would he? Severus wasn't one to stress with anything these days. And what could Severus do if Voldemort walked in the room? At best, he might not be too shy and instead of crawling away, hiding, crying from fear and intimidation, he might stay where he was, and bow, shaking like Lavender Brown's vibrator. Gone was the man that would have killed Voldemort himself had the responsibility not lied with Harry.

"Yes, Master." Severus responded, inanimately waving the string of empty spools Mrs. Weasley had given Teddy to play with, in front of Teddy's face.

Teddy giggled, reaching his hands out to grasp the spools.

Harry sighed at the sight of Teddy's hands. He had read a lot of books in his life, real and imaginary. He wasn't like Hermione at all – he had only read them because he had to for school. But all the books that mentioned a baby reaching for something, it referred to 'the baby's chubby hands'. And since the books were from the Hogwarts library, the fact had to be true. Hogwarts was a really good school, and Harry doubted that their books would lie about anything.

But Teddy's hands weren't chubby – they were bony. Remus had been really skinny, even when he was eating well. Harry was privately worried it was a werewolf-ism thing – just because Teddy didn't change at the full moon didn't mean he didn't have some werewolf stuff going on in his system. What if he had a poisonous bite? Harry had witnessed a lot of the sigma and pain Remus had gone through as a werewolf – he didn't want his godson going through the same stuff.

Harry snapped out of his worrying at a shrill scream. For once though, it wasn't coming from Severus, but from Teddy.

"What is it?" Harry asked Teddy, rhetorically, of course. He wouldn't get an answer from Severus if he tried to get one – the man was shrinking back from Teddy, shaking with tears brimming his eyes. He was more than likely equally upset from being startled and from upsetting Teddy, who he formally addressed as 'Master Teddy'.

Teddy began to wail, making Harry's temples behind to pound even more than they were in the first place – he didn't have the energy to get up and find out what was wrong, though. He felt cold, and achy, like he did when he had a fever, even though he was pretty sure he wasn't sick.

He didn't have time to be sick. He couldn't afford to be.

"Severus!" Harry sighed, sounding more exasperated than he meant to. "What'd you do?"

_Idiot. Not 'what did you do'? God, you sound like you're accusing him. Is it too hard to ask if he saw what happened? Is it? Idiot. Or 'dunderhead', more like it._

Severus looked up at Harry. As usual, he made no eye contact. Blood was beginning to pool on his bottom lip. "I-I-I-" he stopped to lick the blood off of his lip, before continuing, "I-I am n-n-not... I-I do not know, Master." The teeth clamped back on his lip for a moment. Fresh blood appeared. Then, "He was getting... g-getting fid-fidgety for awhile b-but I tried to m-m-make him stop, M-Master. P-P-Perhaps-"

_Oh, God, just stop._ Harry's patience evaporated. "Yeah, I got it. Save it. Go wipe off your lip – it's beyond me why you're in such a hurry to bite it off. You'd think that you'd be grateful it's still attached. Teddy, shut up!"

He knelt down on the floor, his attention fixed on the rapidly changing baby – hair changing length and colour, eyes changing colour, skin as well... not to mention nearly every other part of his body.

It was nap time, for both Teddy and Severus. And maybe while they were napping, Harry could write out those 'Owl for Sale' ads for the Prophet, and other papers. Until one of them woke up screaming, of course. What fun.

Harry knew life was hard, and that things would be ten times as hard with both Teddy and Severus, but this was just ridiculous.

* * *

Severus took the nightshirt from Master without question, putting it over his nude body. He was plenty used to this routine – every afternoon, Master put Master Teddy in his room, in his crib, before taking Severus to the room he slept in. Severus normally despised this time, because Master usually said things to him that made him feel uncomfortable and afraid. Talking nearly non-stop, he usually rambled on about how well Severus seemed, about how after the nap, Master, Master Teddy, and Severus might do this, or do that. He would always ask him how he felt, and other questions that always seem to catch Severus off-guard, even though he had come to expect them now.

But this afternoon, there was none of that, and that made Severus very afraid. Though he was no longer afraid of master hurting him in the near future (because Severus was sick), he knew Master's intentions would come through eventually. Or even if Master had no ill intentions, should he get angry enough at Severus, he could hurt him, in a terrible way. Severus' mind kept going back to the water he had punished himself with from the kitchen tap – Master could burn Severus' body all over the next time he made Severus get in the bath, with much hotter water. Such torture, Severus had not yet underwent by any of his owners, but now that it had occurred to him, how easy it would be for a master to do that, Severus could not stop thinking about it.

Master had been silent as he had taken Severus into the loo, and ordered him to eliminate (Severus looked forward to those four times daily trips, as he usually felt unable to hold it any longer by the time they got there – a sign of a terrible weakness). He had been silent towards Severus as he put Master Teddy in his crib, which was fairly usual, but even now, as he was folding the robe Severus had worn, he was silent. No questions of welfare, no comments on Master Teddy's new words. Silence.

Severus slipped underneath the blankets, trying to arrange them comfortably around his legs. He made the bed up very nicely in the morning, when he woke, but needed the blankets and coverlets to be loose while he slept – it made for a quicker escape, if necessary.

"You know I'm downstairs if you need me." Master repeated his usual departing speech after closing the drapes, so that the room was much dimmer. He ran his fingers through his noticeably unbrushed hair – a sign Severus noted as depression and/or fatigue. "Just yell, and I'll be up here in a flash." Master sighed. "Not a flash – don't worry about that. There won't be a loud noise or a flash – I'm not even Apparating. I'm just going to use the stairs. Oh, hell – what am I saying? It wouldn't matter if Voldemort himself walked into the room – you wouldn't call-"

Master stopped short, blinking at Severus. "What's that look for?"

Severus had been giving a look? He had been trained, and worked hard, to keep his expression blank, apathetic, at all times. He knew he quite often failed that when he was feeling especially scared, but he had thought he had been doing better – he really had.

"I apologise, Master." Severus let his eyes fall to the foot of the bed, where his feet laid buried in blankets – when Master left, Severus would curl into a more comfortable position. "Please punish me in whatever manner you see, necessary-

(burning me in the bath)

-I-I-I had – that is, I was just noticing how tired your eyes looked, and how I could help you feel less tired." That was very true – the bags under Master's eyes made the normally vibrant green eyes look simply old and tired.

Said green eyed widened. "Really, Severus? You think so? Well, I know you think so, 'cause you said so, but... wow, you said so." Master shook his head. "I don't even know what I'm saying any more. Teddy didn't sleep good last night, and... don't worry about it. I'll try to get some more sleep tonight."

What did Master do while Severus slept? That was absolutely none of Severus' business, but he had never stopped to wonder that before – surely the man did _something_.

Now, how to appropriately phrase the next question... "I-Is there some- something I could do to assist you, sir?" Severus inquired, his mind going to how little he did to help his master. Severus did the dishes after nearly every meal, and did his best to keep young Master Teddy amused, but that was not much.

"Aw, shit. I mean, if there's something you want to do, maybe you can – maybe – but, you know, I have things pretty well in hand."

It wasn't for Severus to judge – if Master said that he had it well in hand, then Master had it well in hand. A little voice in Severus' head wondered how things could be so well in hand if Master was so tired, but Severus banished it with his Occlumency shields, and began to endure the burning pain on his forehead for the disrespect.

"Yes, Master." Severus said, quietly, bringing his eyes down to study his short fingernails that he bit off (in private, as normal slaves went about keeping up their appearances) on a regular basis, as the nutritive Potion that he could taste mixed into his porridge made his nails grow quite fast.

Master sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Severus felt a chill run up his spine as he felt his master's nearness. He breathed shallowly, a technique to not flinch if touched – he still managed to flinch a lot these days, something he supposed was related to his being sick.

"_You do know what could make me feel less tired..." Severus could practically feel his master's fingers dancing over the blankets, onto Severus' covered lap. "More relaxed... release endorphins and act as a real stress reliever... Do you know how you could be a real help to your master?"_

Master touched Severus a lot, more so than any of Severus' past owners had. In the bath only, though. Master never touched Severus outside the bath, had never even intentionally aroused his body. Master had said he had a lot of issues in the past with girls and 'stuff' – certainly Master would want to take his sexual frustration out on someone, and he had the perfect candidate right there... but he hadn't.

Yet.

_But why would he now? In a bed of all places! Only Mistress and Master Mering wanted to touch me, or have me pleasure them, in a bed – none of my owners asked that I sleep in a bed... but it does make sense, what if Master does not want me or my fluids in his bed? Or course, that is why we would be intimate in this one..._

Master seemed completely unaware of Severus' racing thoughts. "You can help, if you want, but it has to be only with certain things. It's- well, look, Severus – it's complicated. For example, I'm selling the owl because I don't want it hurting you again, or Teddy, but it doesn't mean that I'm comfortable with the idea of you delivering my mail – not that you wouldn't be good at it, because I'm sure you would, but..." Master sighed. "It's complicated."

What was complicated was that Master looked ready to fall asleep in the bed Severus slept in. Severus did not want him to, but had absolutely no choice in the matter – he could not even move back into the closet, or Master would get angry with him for sleeping in there. Perhaps Master _wanted_ to sleep in the same bed as another person – perhaps that was something Master had an issue with, and wanted to practise before he was intimate with a person. But with Master sleeping so close to Severus... touching him, even in non-intimate places...

"Look, all you need to do is keep doing what you're doing." Master said after a long silence. "Dr. Brown... you like her, don't you?"

It was a tough situation – even if Severus hated her, he had to tell Master, even if he got in trouble for it. Sometimes, you were damned if you did, and damned if you didn't. Severus could only hold his breath and hope that it was not one of those times.

"She seems nice." Severus tested the water. He wished he could see the expression on Master's face at those words, but it was not good for a slave to rest his eyes on his master's face too frequently.

"Good – yeah, she's really nice." Master said. "Look, you're doing really good going with me to see her. Just keep going, and start paying attention to what she says, and I think that you will be able to deliver mail in no time."

Delivering Master's mail? A surge of excitement rushed through Severus at the prospect of being able to transform into a raven again, at being able to fly up in the air, equal to all other animals up there. There were no owners or superiors up there, save the Familiars of other wizards and witches. And Severus could do it all, while doing a task for his master. While pleasing his master. Severus had not felt that feeling of knowing that he was pleasing his master in quite some time. Knowing he would be feeling that feeling soon was such an encouragement that, momentarily, all the confusion and worry of the past weeks melted away.

"Good." Master reached out and ran his fingers through Severus' hair, causing Severus to flinch, and all the confusion and worry to return.

Master must have decided not to stay and sleep after all, because he stood and made for the door. "Hey, tonight I'm thinking we can go to the Weasley's for a bit to, you know, relax and get out of the house some."

Master Arthur's home meant Gik, assuming that they still had her. And why wouldn't they have her? They said that they would keep her until she was old enough to go live at Master's home. They had just about promised, and although promises only meant something to a slave when it was directed towards a master, there was no reason that Master Arthur and the elder Mistress Weasley should break the almost-promise. Unless Master asked them to kill it, to mess with Severus' head. But Severus had a feeling that Master would never do that, not even to just a slave.

It had to help though, that the kitten was named after something Master said. Severus thought that had been very clever – the more honoured Master felt about it, the better the kitten's chances were.

Master, as if to reaffirm Severus' thoughts, said, "Gik will be there. I'll bet my broomstick that she'll be so excited to see you that she'll want to curl up next to you all night."

That was good, and had Severus a choice of going or staying home, he would have chosen 'go' at that instant. He could not describe the feeling he had whenever he was able to see the growing kitten, but it made him feel good.

"Yes, Master." Severus responded. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" Master said. "Um, you're welcome. Good night."

"Goodnight, Master."

* * *

Harry's idea of a relaxing time definitely included time at the Burrow, butterbeer, and the confidence that Mrs. Weasley would be so busy fussing over Teddy that Harry wouldn't have to worry about him. And in the very capable hands

(paws?)

of Gik the Kitty, Severus would be fine. As long as no one spoke to Severus or said anything 'triggering' to or around him, he would be fine. He was just so enthralled with the tiny kitty, you could just tell she put him on Cloud Nine.

Mrs. Weasley, unfortunately, had a habit of saying triggering things, sending Severus into a full-blown panic, bowing, begging to help or be punished. 'Triggers' as _the Road to Recovery_ put it, could be anything. A trigger was something that made Severus think of something bad that had happened to him, but it could be so random. If Severus happened to have mint tea on the same day that he was beaten bloody by, say, Mering, he could go into panic, just by smelling a cup of mint tea.

Harry, who was with Severus 24/7, had learned what many of the triggers – things that upset Severus for no apparent reason – were. Mrs. Weasley had as talent, though, for finding them . It was as if she just didn't realise, as sad as it was, that Severus was better treated as invisible or a slave than an Order member, professor, or old friend. Right now, Severus honestly didn't understand care or positive attention, and it wasn't a good idea to try to force him to.

Thankfully, tonight it would be low-key. There would be no one there except Mr. and Mrs. Weasley – and Mr. Weasley was very good at treating Severus just as he, for now, should be treated. Harry was looking forward to an evening of conversation, and maybe a bit of normalcy – it wasn't as if he was able to have either of each very often.

"Severus, Gik is under the first flight of stairs." Mr. Weasley said, a twinkle in his eyes. "I can tell she misses you a lot. Why don't you go get her?"

"Yes, Master Arthur." Severus rose to his feet and hurried into the kitchen, to look at the basket of kitties that normally lay under the stairs.

"Have you told Harry, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley asked, looking over Teddy's carrot-red hair.

"Master Arthur?" Harry felt slightly anxious at those words. What had compelled Severus to switch over to such an informal title? The doctor hadn't said _anything_ as specific as about titles as of yet, and Harry was the only one around to influence him... but then, why never 'Master Harry'?

"No, Moll." Mr. Weasley said. "I asked him to call him that when I came to see you last – I thought having so many 'Master Weasleys' around was confusing for _us_, so it _had_ to be for him."

"Arthur." Mrs. Weasley pressed. "Before he comes back."

"I know, I know." Mr. Weasley's twinkle remained in his eye. "We've buyers lined up for all of the kittens, except for Gik, of course. They seem about old enough – Gik should be ready to move in whenever you're ready. Tonight, even. We didn't want Severus to hear and be disappointed if you weren't ready to bring her-"

"Not that!" Mrs. Weasley scolded. "About-"

"I'm not telling him about that!" Mr. Weasley said.

"Well, do you expect him to find out in the papers?"

"Why would it be in the paper?"

"You never know." Mrs. Weasley frowned.

"Harry doesn't even _get_ the paper."

"Actually, I do." Harry interrupted as Severus entered the room. It was not good for there to be conflict of any kind around Severus – he sniffed out tension like Ron did mince pies at Christmas. He was always afraid the anger would be taken out on him. Harry didn't wanted to imagine how often that had probably happened to him before.

Severus sat down, looking around curiously for a few moments, as if he indeed sensed the tension, but quickly bowed his head and began petting the kitty, who curled in Severus' lap, content and purring.

Good to know that the kitty was relaxed – that was more than Harry could say for himself. The relaxing evening Harry had earlier envisioned seemed to evaporate in a mere matter of minutes.

"If there's something I need to know, I'd rather hear about it from you than in _the Prophet_." Harry didn't know why he felt as pissed as he did – the Weasleys hadn't said anything, yet. And, after all, people keeping information from him had worked out pretty good for him in terms of the whole Voldemort thing.

But Voldemort was dead, and Harry was exhausted. He didn't need to play guessing games. He was not a child any longer.

"Look, I'm tense." Harry said to them. "I nearly bit off Severus' head today, and I never do that. Ever. If I'm going to have to hear something I obviously am not going to want to hear, I want to hear it now, before I have gone through all the effort of relaxing."

Mr. Weasley looked from Mrs. Weasley, to Severus, to Harry before sighing reluctantly. "Harry, I understand that you grew up as a Muggle, and are a half-blood, so none of this you may have heard before. But a majority of Pure-bloods – myself, Molly, I'm sure your dad and Sirius Black... Severus, even-"

"Severus is a half-blood, just like me." Harry said, flatly. _Not so much a half-blood prince now, though._

Severus seemed oblivious to the whole conversation. How could you not listen though, when your own name was mentioned? Screw Occlumency and obsession with a kitty, one would think Severus would startle at the mention of his name. Or Sirius Black. Or Pure-bloods... but he didn't. He was, like Dumbledore had said, really good at Occlumency, apparently.

"Of course. My apologies, Severus." Mr. Weasley continued without bothering to explain his error, for which Harry was grateful. Mentioning Severus' past as a Death Eater _had_ to be a trigger for him.

"With so many Pure-blood families 'disappearing', you might say, many Pure-bloods make the effort to see that their children are paired with another Pure-blood."

"They _choose_ their wives or husbands?" That was not cool. Harry would probably never get married, and he was a half-blood (and his parents were dead), anyway, but he could still imagine how disastrous that felt, or could turn out. And to not even feel the love Harry had thought he felt for Cho Chang, to not feel the same kind of love Harry had thought he felt for Ginny...

"It is different for different people." Mr. Weasley admitted. "I was not in school while your parents were, but I know the parents of Sirius Black and a Lucinda Richardson decided that their children would marry, according to Sirius, until he conned them into thinking that he had eloped to Bolivia with- well, never mind. Most nowadays date just like half-bloods or Muggleborns, only it can only be with certain ones that their parents have agreed on."

"We – Molly and I – do not force our children into any sort of arrangements. Blood purity, as you know, is rather non-existent as it is. Bill is married to Fleur, and Charlie is involved with a Muggle girl in Romania. Ron is with Hermione-"

Harry wasn't as thick as it seemed people thought. "I don't care if Ginny is dating." Harry knew _exactly_ where Mr. Weasley was headed with this.

The room got uncomfortably quiet. Teddy was babbling nonsense, the nicknamed 'Teddy-nese', but Harry was used to tuning that out. He wasn't used to the awkward silence at the Burrow. Definitely at home, between Harry and Severus, but never at the Burrow. Even on the rare occasions that the Burrow _was_ quiet, it was never an awkward one.

"I don't." Harry insisted. He and Ginny had broken it off months ago, and were both happy with the arrangement. They were almost exactly the same as always, except they were now perfectly at ease to make teasing sexual remarks and gestures without being worried of it becoming an issue (such as Ginny bringing him a stack of dirty magazines to 'relax' with, as if Harry ever got the time to do something as simple to jerk off). Yes, they had kissed on multiple occasions, and had almost done _it_ once, but it wasn't a huge deal. In fact, if Harry ever needed to go to a girl on advice for relationships, he was more likely to go to Ginny than Hermione.

So, if she wanted to date, fine. Harry was happy for her. Happy that she had boyfriend, happy that she didn't have a baby and recovering torture victim/slave to deal with at once. Seriously.

"I hadn't thought for a moment that you did, Harry." Mr. Weasley said, calmly. "It's _who_ she's dating that I thought you might have an issue with. And you're right, you would prefer to hear this from a friend than a stranger."

_Draco Malfoy. I'll kill him, _was Harry's first thought. Of course it would be Draco, the bastard. It made perfect sense – Draco only dated Pure-bloods, it would seriously piss off Harry, and...

_Ginny would never date a Malfoy. She made me promise to put Lucius behind bars, for God's sake._

_So maybe it's not Draco. But who could upset me more than that?_

"Is it Draco?" Harry said, asking the question carefully. The Malfoys were a trigger, Harry was assuming – he couldn't be sure, as he and Severus never spoke of the Malfoys, but if he avoided saying the last name, maybe Severus wouldn't notice. He didn't seem to.

"Draco?" Mr. Weasley raised his brow. "No, why would you think my daughter would be with him?"

Harry shrugged, not bothering to explain his reasoning. He had known for years that his logic was skewed. He blamed it on brain damage. Or scar tissue. Haha.

"When a young Pure-blood woman gets to a certain age, she or her parents start receiving a handful of letters from parents, suitors, and the like. Ginny received more than average for a girl without a dowry, because of her connection with the War, we're assuming." Mr. Weasley said. "Ginny was intent on ignoring them, but she found one that interested her from a young man a couple years her junior. I'm not sure why – I suppose she found him mysterious, or just someone to be pen pals with. They began to court a few weeks ago."

Harry still didn't get the point – did Mr. Weasley suspect it of being Draco on Polyjuice? But why would Draco want to be with Ginny, she being a blood traitor and all.

"Nathan is the young man's name." Mrs. Weasley broke in. "He is sixteen, and very polite. He's very mature for his age. And attractive."

"Harry, he's Richard Weston's son."

* * *

Time seemed to stop. Weston? Richard Weston? The same Weston that owned and tortured Severus into near insanity? Or close enough to it that the difference itself didn't really matter? How could Ginny want to date his son? Why would the Weasleys let her? Knowing all that had happened to him there? Not that they knew much, as Harry didn't know much himself. But he knew Severus had received and been subjected to some sexual abuse. Gay sexual abuse. And he had received lots of physical and emotions scars from König, sure, but he had to get some of it at Weston's, too – there was no way he could have been sexually abused and have no emotional damage, according to _the Road to _Recovery.

Ginny couldn't date the son of _that. _Anyone else, but not the son of _that_. Only bitches like- like Pansy Parkinson dated the son of _that_. Ginny dated nice guys like Dean Thomas, or Neville Longbottom. Not a Weston.

_You're jealous._

_Am not. I don't love her in that way. I would be fine if she dated any other guy. _Any_ other guy! Unless she chose to date the son of Mering, of course!_

_Yeah, but the Weasleys won't believe that._

"I need to go." Harry said, numbly, as everything came back into focus. He stood on slightly shaky legs.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley also stood, reaching towards harry. "There is not-"

"Don't touch me." Harry flinched back. "Severus-"

_Severus. Shit. _After hearing Weston's name, one would think he'd go into one of his panic attacks again. Gasping for breath, crying, begging for punishment. Harry was so selfishly caught up with himself that he forgot to pay attention to Severus. Idiot.

He looked over at Severus, and breathed a sigh of brief relief; Severus wasn't moving to hide his head on Harry's shoes. He was just sitting there, whispering inaudible things to his purring kitty. He seemed to be in seventh heaven, completely oblivious to the news that would shatter Severus' fragile, carefully constructed last-hope glass bubble

(not to be mistaken with 'cage').

It was actually kind of inspiring, the way that Severus altered his reality with Occlumency. It was too bad that Harry sucked at Occlumency – it was starting to seem like a useful skill.

":Harry?" Mr. Weasley said. "Harry, we know you have worked very hard to help Severus through his past – including what Richard and Christina Weston put him through – but you have to understand the details."

"Details?" Harry's voice revealed what he felt in an icy tone – utter betrayal by the family he considered his.

"I don't think I need to understand the _details_." Harry said. "I think I understand all the details. I know all the details of how Severus is scared to sleep in too dark or too open a room, so he can see who is coming. I understand all of the details on how Severus screams and cries at night... you know, I can't go anywhere near him to try to comfort him without him thinking I want a blow job, or just scaring him even more. I understand that he and I may be dealing with this for another _two hundred_ years, thanks to _bastards_ like Weston. And I understand that none of you care enough about either of our pain to miss out on a 'potentially good match'. Yeah, I think I understand quite well."

Harry was now aware of all the eyes in the room, minus Teddy's, were on him. He wanted nothing more than to stop out of the room like Dudley did when he thought he might not get his way. And he would have, had that not required leaving his charges in the hands of the Weasleys – Teddy, he felt comfortable doing so, but Severus? Less so than ever.

"Why don't you go for a walk?" Mrs. Weasley finally suggested, putting down a squirming Teddy. "We'll watch Teddy and Sev-"

"No." Harry knew he was being rude, but right now, he didn't give a shit. The Weasleys didn't deserve his politeness. They were something he had never dreamed they were. "I'm not letting Severus get within... within a million metres of you guys for a long time. Come one, Severus – Severus! - we're leaving."

Severus snapped out of his Occlumency shields and whispers to the kitty and obediently rose to his feet. Tears streamed down his pale cheeks as he nuzzled the kitty in his arms.

"You can take Gik with you." Harry impatiently added, thinking that might stop Severus' tears – it didn't.

"Teddy's blankey is in his nappy bag – with his nappies and other stuff." Harry protectively wrapped one arm around Severus' back, causing Severus to jerk so that he almost dropped his beloved kitty. "I'll be back tomorrow to pick him up."

"We'll take good care of him – don't worry about him, Harry."

Yeah, right. "Just don't set him up with any Pure-bloods – they might hang him by a noose when they find out Remus was a werewolf."

He knew he was being an outright arse, a bastard, a jerk, but felt perfectly entitled to. He felt like throwing up. How long had this been going on? Did Ginny already know Weston when they crashed Lucius Malfoy's party? She had been _lying_? Harry hadn't t thought Ginny was bitter about their breakup, but if she was, she had a hell of a way of getting back at him.

* * *

Severus followed Master out the door, clutching Gik tightly in his arms. He tried not to worry, as he knew his master hated him to, but it was hard. As much as he was upset over what his master would do to him, he was even more upset over all it seemed he did, regularly, to displease his master.

**Coming up next in _Unwell_...**

**..._Chapter Forty-Nine: A Surprise Check-Up_**

**A/N:** Happy Christmas, everyone! I cannot tell you how much I appreciate the support, love, and reviews given to me throughout the year, even through a long, unannounced hiatus. I am sorry I pulled what is known in the Snarry universe as 'a Josephine Darcy', and appeared to abandon 'Unwell', or die, without a notice. I am so blessed to have supportive readers who understand! Thank you so much everyone. Have a happy Christmas, and a better year than Snape has had.


	49. A Surprise Check Up

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter". I am making no money off of this story.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Nine  
"A Surprise Check-Up"**

Quickly, Severus began lapping up the food given to him. Though green, slimy, with a foul odour, it was definitely a sign that his master either earnestly thought Severus should be allowed this food item, or wanted Severus to to think he thought that.

Nevertheless, Severus had only been allowed porridge for what had to have had been weeks. But for the past three days, he had been given the green mixture. It seemed to be leftover from what Master Teddy sometimes also ate – baby food. But if Master wanted to give Severus the same food that he had once given Master Teddy, that was wonderful.

"Sorry it's all broccoli flavoured." Master apologised once again. "Teddy doesn't like it, and I'm trying to finish out all the jars we have so we don't have to buy any more, since Teddy's kind of over it, but if we did have more flavours, you could pick, I guess... but you know? You haven't thrown any of this up, so maybe you don't have to stick to it. Maybe tonight we can make mashed potatoes. Or scrambled eggs. Or baked potatoes. Or boiled, maybe. It has to be something pretty bland, and kinda soft – for your stomach and on account of that you don't have many teeth - and I'm really good at making potatoes. It's one of the only things I can make, except for eggs. And porridge, but you know that."

Lightly, Severus shoved Gik away from Severus' water bowl. Severus wouldn't mind sharing his food with Gik, as hungry as Severus could be sometimes, but the water was off-limits. The nutritive Potion mixed in could hurt the kitten.

A loud clang resounded throughout the house, so loud that it caused Master's Muggle cuckoo clock to sound, before falling to the ground.

Severus jumped, shuddered away, cringing. Master would not hurt Severus for the clock falling, would he? It wasn't Severus' _fault_, as far as Severus knew, and although that hadn't stopped any of Severus' old owners, that might stop Master. Master was not a fair man by any means – he had a tendency to not punish Severus when he even really deserved it.

"Who the hell rings the doorbell?" Master asked himself out loud. He reached down and picked up Gik with one hand, who seemed as spooked by the doorbell as Severus, and lightly dropped her in Severus' lap as he made his way into the sitting room.

* * *

No one rang the doorbell. Ron and Hermione usually knocked or Flooed – nearly everyone gave notice when they stopped in. Ginny as the only one who took extremely special care before stopping in, and that was because she knew how it felt to be extremely traumatised-

(_no she doesn't_)

Harry tried to block the thought of Ginny out. He didn't know how to deal with it at the moment. Half of the time, he was all 'screw you, bitch', and the other half of it, he was almost ready to hear her out. Which she had tried to let him do. Multiple times within the past week. Whenever he walked past her at Hogwarts, where he was taking the NEWTs. But he didn't want to let her. He didn't punch girls – had he ever punched _anyone_? - but he might be tempted to if he had to talk about such a huge _conflict of interest_, as Hermione called it.

Or cry, And Harry, as a rule, did not cry.

He peeped through the peephole in the door. He could see a mass of red, but it wasn't a Weasley red. He couldn't see too well through the peephole, though – his glasses always got in the way.

Harry opened the door, putting himself in the narrow space between the door and the frame in attempt to block the entrance, in case the person on the porch was unwanted.

It was the lady from Wizarding Family Services, Mrs... Miss... Missus... he couldn't remember. But there was no mistaking the blue hair, this time topped with a bright red hat, complete with a stuffed cardinal perched on top.

"Oh... hi." Harry fumbled in his head for her name, but came up blank.

"Mr. Potter." She inclined her head – Harry found himself waiting for the hat to fall off. "Do you remember me?"

"Oh, yeah." _Please don't require a name..._ "You're from Wizarding Family Services." he stepped aside. "Come on in, please."

She stepped jauntily in-

(_hat is going to fall off!_)

-and looked around, a critical look in her eye.

"Um, could I get you some tea?" Harry tried to be polite. "We have normal and chamomile – I don't like the chamomile, but Severus' therap- a friend suggested that it's good for calming your nerves. Not _you_ you, but, you know... everyone."

Whatever this was, it was not going to go well.

She peered at him over her glasses. "Mr. Potter, this is not a social call. We have received an anonymous report, and are required to re-evaluate your home."

_Re-evaluate_? What was there to re-evaluate? Harry's house hadn't changed any since Wizarding Family Services' first visit.

Well, that wasn't completely true; when Wizarding Family Services had first come, Harry hadn't yet lived in the house twenty-four hours. Now, it had become a home. A very messy home, with toys littering the floor, trashbins overflowing, dirty nappies, and a pile of pissed on bedspreads and nightclothes... with Teddy and Severus in the kitchen, with food smeared all over their faces, to boot.

"You mean, to check up on us?" Harry checked. "Like, one of those visit you mentioned where you just check up on us to see how me and Teddy are doing?"

Firmly, she shook her head, her lips in a tight line. "No. Someone Firecalled us and told us of events that have taken place here, making this an unsafe environment for young Theodore."

Who? Who could have possibly done that? Would would have? Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna had no reason to. Ginny had no reason to, as pissed off and delusional as Harry knew she was. He had thrown that tantrum at the Weasleys not long ago, but it wasn't cause for a _re-evaluation_.

And Harry didn't really know anyone else that well, these days. McGonagall had stopped Harry several times this week, telling how much she worried over him, and telling him how tired he looked, asking how Severus was. But she didn't trust the Ministry or any of their affiliates any more than Harry did. And George and Percy... Percy might do something like that, but he hadn't done such an asshole-ish thing since Fred died. And George was like a brother to Harry – he had no motivation to try to get Teddy taken away from Harry.

"Who was it?" Harry carefully edged in front of the kitchen door, blocking her entrance. "Who made the report?"

"That, Mr. Potter, is confidential." She said. "That is why it is called an 'anonymous report'."

"What did they say in their report?" Harry persisted. As messy as the house was, as busy as Harry was, Teddy lived in a good home. He got as many meals as he wanted, he got his own room, and most importantly, he was loved a lot. Severus just worshipped 'Master' Teddy, even if he did get scared shitless by him half of the time. It was unconventional, but it was good. For everyone.

"Mr. Potter, what is it that you have hidden in your kitchen?" The woman ignored Harry's question, instead letting her eyes narrow in on the closed kitchen door.

_On, shit._ "We're kind of messy eaters." Harry sighed. "Just, you know, be warned."

He turned and opened the door, being sure to be the first one in as to not scare Severus with the blue-haired woman. "Severus, you remember-"

_Shit. What's-her-name. Miss. Missus..._

"-the woman from Wizarding Family Services." Harry finished, lamely.

Teddy's toddler spoon was thrown and landed in Severus' hair, causing him to cry out and flinch violently, not out of pain, but in surprise and out of habit. He quickly resumed his bow though, one that nearly made him kiss the floor.

A floor that had been spotless before breakfast.

"Mistress Fields." Severus murmured.

_Fields. Right. _Harry could pass it off as he had too much on his mind to remember such trivial things, but it wasn't like Severus _didn't_. He was dysfunctional, but very mentally busy.

The kitchen was more of a wreck than Harry remembered; the pantry door was wide open, revealing oodles of porridge, rice, broccoli baby food, and odds and ends of other stuff. Dishes that Severus hadn't yet gotten to were piled high in the sink, like the _Prophet_s piled on the table Harry hadn't had time to read. Dried, stuck porridge from two days ago was still on the table that Harry hadn't cleaned behind Severus' back (little or no magic in his presence, as a rule).

Teddy was still in his sleepsuit, which was now covered in porridge, because Harry forgot the bib. Severus, for whatever reason, had cried so hard at the prospect of getting in the bath last night that Harry hadn't had the heart to make him. Teddy needed a haircut, his hair at its natural length (the length it was when Teddy was sleeping or in a somewhat neutral mood) was too long. Severus hadn't gotten a shave in days (magic and razors – neither was an enemy worth fighting daily), and it was not only unbecoming to his face, it made him look kind of scary.

Harry himself had no clue what he looked like, because mirrors weren't a luxury he could afford to take the time to use daily, but if he looked anything like Severus and Teddy, they were screwed. And he probably looked worse.

Harry flushed, walking behind Severus and (hopefully casually) running his fingers through Severus' hair to wandlessly get the baby food out. Severus flinched, but then leaned into the touch, almost welcoming it, for whatever bizarre reason.

Harry jerked away. "I'm sorry about the house." He apologised, picking Teddy up, who was beginning to wail. "I know it's a wreck. I shouldn't let it get this messy, I know. I'm so sorry."

_Stop apologising, Potter, _he scolded himself. _You sound like an idiot. _But the words kept fumbling out.

"I can explain though. Sorta. See, Teddy is just now getting off baby food permanently. I mean, he eats normal stuff, too, but he just likes it, is all. Normally, he wears a bib but I think I lost it in the wash pile. I know Wizards don't usually have wash piles, but I can't set up the clothes to wash without scaring Severus- he had a phobia of magic. Right now. Post-traumatic stress disorder. That's what it's called, what he has. He's actually a very gifted Wizard." he looked at Severus encouragingly, but Severus, at always, was just looking at the floor.

Ms. Fields was busily writing in her notebook with her blue quill. "I thought he was a slave."

_Shit. _The Death Eater slaves weren't exactly supposed to be living cushy lives, but it wasn't a _law_. "He is." Harry got a damp rag and began cleaning Teddy's face and hands. "He's a good slave, too. And he works hard to do whatever I ask him to."

"Which is?" She raised her brows, which come to think about it, looked a bit blue. "Forgive me, but it doesn't appear to be cleaning."

Harry flushed even more, sitting Teddy on the floor next to Severus for only a moment, before picking him back up, on second thought.

"He does do dishes every morning, and night. He picks up Teddy's toys, and plays with him well. He offers to do a lot more-"

(_but he can't. Or he might try and fail, putting him three steps behind. Or I'm just paranoid._)

(_It's Snape – why are you paranoid?_)

"But?" She asked, expectantly.

(_Because I care about him._)

Harry sighed, looking around at the mess Aunt Petunia would never have tolerated. It was untrue to say that lying had never gotten him anywhere – it had saved his arse on more than on occasion – but it didn't feel right right now. Any lie he told, he felt like the blue-haired woman would see through, anyhow.

"But he's got the post-traumatic thing." He said. "And he's my friend."

"See, Severus ran into some bad luck. He had a couple of owners that treated him really bad – three that I know of, maybe more. It's made him think he's not even human, you know? I bought him to remind him-"

(_or teach him_)

-that people love and care about him. Or at least I do. So no, he doesn't clean much, or deliver my mail, but he works hard to function like a human, to please me, and that's more than enough for me. He knows that all I ask of him is to tell me when he's physically hurt, never lie, never hurt Teddy, and to follow the schedule we have of eating, naps, and stuff. And I think he's doing super good. He's changed a lot – in a good way – and I'm proud of him." He paused for breath, ignoring Teddy's pulling on his ear. "Isn't this supposed to be about Teddy?"

Ms. Fields nodded. "Yes, but this report also concerns the slave."

_The slave. _She said it like she didn't view Severus as a person, as if he were an object. It was disgusting, but so many people treated Severus this way, Harry was learning not to care. What he thought and said about Severus, what Severus thought and said about Severus, was what mattered.

"Wait." Harry's head was spinning. He switched Teddy in his arms, for Teddy to pull on Harry's other ear. "How does a report with Wizarding Family Services involve Severus? I'm Teddy's godfather. I'm his legal guardian. I adopted him – not Severus."

"Yes, but as long as he lives in this house, we must take him into account." She said. "Do not forget that you passed our home inspection because of the weight your word carries, and not because of how stable your life is at the moment." she looked at Severus. "Nor on how stable your slave is at the moment."

Harry had the mind to use the Jelly-Legs jinx on her. He worked hard, and to have her look down on them, on Severus, was just irritating. "We're perfectly stable." He tried to stay calm. "Teddy gets up at the same time every morning, eats, plays, naps, and goes to bed at the same time every night. I love him, and so do all my friends who stop and visit pretty regularly. Severus may be kind of emotionally unstable, but he would never touch Teddy in a harmful way. Not only because in his heart, he's a good person, but because he does everything I tell him to do. If I tell him to never hurt Teddy, he never will. Period."

She raised her brows. Something in the way she did that made her look like an oversized blue parrot. "You seem confident."

"I am." Harry put Severus down on the floor, and put his hand on Severus' shoulder, causing him to flinch, but not quite as violently as before. "He's a good man. I will put every pen- knut I have on it. Whatever that anonymous report said, I can refute, with proof, one hundred percent."

She just nodded, slowly. "Mr. Potter, do you ever leave your slave alone with Theodore?"

"No." Harry said, instantly. He had been very careful with that one. _The Road to Recovery_ stressed how being abused did not mean one would become an abuser himself, but Snape had been an abuser in the first place. But that wasn't even the main concern. The main concern was that Harry couldn't trust Severus to say ''Teddy, don't touch that'. 'Don't eat that'. 'That's naughty'.

"I see. Do you ever give your slave access to Theodore when you're not around?"

"I don't understand."

"Mr. Potter, can your slave access Teddy at night when you're sleeping, or perhaps when you're cooking?"

"That's impossible." Harry didn't know what she was implying exactly, but he didn't like it. "Every word spoken in these rooms, every time one of them cries or screams, I can hear from any room of the house, even the loo. If they leave or someone enters their rooms, I'll hear an alarm." He glanced at Severus, who had his eyes to his knees, his hooked nose pointed to the floor. "Not that I don't trust Sev – I just want to be there for him if something goes wrong, you know?"

Somewhere, at the point while Harry was talking, Severus' always tensed shoulders tensed even more, but there was little Harry could do about that now. There was little he could do about it any time.

"May I check those alarms and wards?"

"Be my guest." Harry was confident in his spellcasting. It was a confidence Remus, Teddy's father, had once nurtured. He knew the blue meanie would find not one loophole or crack in his wards or alarms.

"When you signed the adoption papers, you made it clear to the representative of Wizarding Family Services that you did not want to change Theodore's surname. Why?"

_Because he's not a Potter? He's a Lupin, and going to be proud of it_. "I really don't see why that's, you know, relevant."

"These are questions I need to ask."

Who the hell had reported Harry to Wizarding Family Services? Someone who happened to read in the Prophet's legal section that Harry Potter had adopted a baby boy? Who also read that Harry had bought a Death Eater slave? Certainly no one who knew Harry – everyone Harry knew knew that he would never allow anyone to hurt an innocent baby – especially his own godson. Even people who hated Harry, like Draco Malfoy, knew this about Harry and wouldn't waste time reporting such an obvious lie.

"Look, his parents were Lupins." Harry explained the obvious. "Well, Tonks – his mum – was a Tonks until she got married, but... you know. I don't think Remus had any brothers to carry on the family name, and it's a good way for Teddy to remember his parents. Look, as far as I'm concerned, he's family. What difference does a last name make?" Petunia and Lily Evans had had the same last name for most of their lives, and in the end, aunt Petunia sure didn't treat her sister like she was family.

"Excellent points."

"I have to ask," Harry said, letting his hand slide off Severus' tense shoulder. He knew that the report was made anonymously, but that didn't mean that the report itself was anonymous. It was a scarily Slytherin thought. "What did the report say?"

* * *

_Sev. Sev. Sev. Love and care. Care and love._ The words ran through Severus' mind, pounding like blood in his ears, as he tried to make sense of them.

None of Severus' past owners had ever so much as implied that they loved Severus. Even Master Weston, who had called Severus 'pet', had given him such a nice warm bath on top of weekly showers that one time, petted his hair and whispered such kind things in his ears... not even he had ever said that he loved Severus.

After being intimate with him, neither Master or Mistress had never said that.

_He said it, but did not mean it._

_Master never lies. About anything._

_Who could love you? No one does._

That was true. And that was fine. When Severus allowed himself to glimpse into his past life, he only witnessed hate and false love. Which was fine. He did not need it. He did not expect it. Not then, and certainly not now. Slaves were not loved by their owners – if they were allowed spouses, said spouses were usually chosen, but perhaps they learned to love each other.

To be honest, what was love? He understood the definition, but all meaning of the word as lost. Or perhaps it had never been there to begin with.

Master had not been intimate with him. No one Severus had ever been intimate with had loved him. So logically, that was a good sign. But Master Weston had also fed Severus regularly, and so did Master, so perhaps that meant nothing.

"What the fuck?" Master exclaimed shutting the front door behind Mistress Fields.

Severus cringed, tucking himself as far into the corner as he could go. 'Out of sight, out of mind,' as the saying went.

The lady had come for Severus. She had said that she was worried Severus would hurt Master Teddy. That confused Severus, but it was a confusion put behind the love situation. But even that took a back burner to Master's anger. Profanity from your owner was a bad thing. Profanity from your owner aimed at you was even worse – the next step would be to start throwing things in the slave's general direction.

But Master didn't. He instead picked up Master Teddy and said simply, "Go up to your room,. Severus. Don't sorry about what she said. You're not a danger to anyone, and neither am I. It was probably just a report by some rabid fan idiot with too big and morbid an imagination – you heard Ms. Blue-What's-her-face – we've got nothing to worry about."

Severus did as he was told, but he did have something to worry about, despite Master's words .For he knew if Master had to choose between keeping Master Teddy and Severus, he would not hesitate; he would sell Severus, and that would be the end.

Of everything.

**Coming up next in Unwell...  
..._Chapter Fifty: The Book Shop_**

**A/N: **We won the Deathly Hallows award! Thank you, everyone!


	50. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty  
"One Step Forward, Two Steps Back"**

* * *

"And now, I think he's really attached to me, which is a good thing, right?" Harry said.

He had just gotten done explaining the Wizard Family Services visit to Dr. Brown. Severus had already had his solo session, which apparently had been perfectly unproductive, as evidenced by the slight shake of Dr. Brown's head when Harry and Teddy had entered the room afterwards. She said she wouldn't tell Harry what they discussed in their visits, not _if_ they discussed.

Severus was on the floor, as per usual, focused on that damn Rubik's Cube. The reason it was a 'damn' Rubik's Cube? Teddy kept trying to get down off of Harry's lap, wanting to get down on the floor and play with it.

"What makes you say that?" Dr. Brown reached down and tugged on a stocking leg..

"Well," Harry tried to explain. "The way he's been acting lately. Have you noticed how clingy he's been?" Severus had been in near tears when Harry had announced his intentions of leaving him alone in the room with Dr. Brown. He had begged, pleaded, for 'Master' to stay. It had been one of the hardest things Harry had done in awhile to leave him at that point.

"That's not necessarily a good thing." Dr. Brown said, practically.

"What?" How was it not? If Severus clung to Harry like a lifeline, that meant that he trusted him more. The more trust, the less flinching when gotten close to, the less pissed in beds, the less risk and worry. It seemed like a win-win situation to Harry. "Why not? How come?"

"Because his thinking process is very different from ours." Dr. Brown replied, patiently. "He has been through unimaginable torture and pain, through terrible mind games. We do not know why he has been so 'clingy', as you put it, as of late, but it could easily not be for the right reasons. Perhaps he thinks that you like him being utterly dependent upon you, in a childlike way, and is playing that up. Perhaps he thinks that you are angry with him and is trying to please you. Perhaps he is trying to avoid punishment by, ah... kissing up? Just because he had been through terrible abuse does not mean he has lost that cleverness and manipulation that you say he is known for."

That made sense – Harry's House traits included bravery. Even when he was afraid, he still plunged through it. And no matter how many times you beat him over the head, he'd still probably be that way. He was super loyal – there was no way you could knock that out of him.

_Maybe you're too loyal, _he thought, looking over at his preoccupied Occluding slave. Everyone had decided it was better to leave Severus alone, content with torture, than struggling against the curse put upon him. And had Harry been less loyal, he might have done that. It would have been so easy on them all – but better for Severus to struggle through it than to keep living in the torment.

"Well, how do I find out?" Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from Severus and looking back to Dr. Brown.

"I am not sure." She said, thoughtfully. "You need to try to get him to open up to you a bit more. Not necessarily deep conversation, as that is what I am here for, but more than what you're doing know. Right now, the only words he speaks to you are in responses to questions, right?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Severus had, several times, given basic conversation, but so basic that it hardly counted.

"How about trying to take him into a restaurant, out to eat? It is in a public setting, so he does not have the worry that you are trying to take advantage of him, and it is always easier to open up over a nice meal." She frowned. "Though alcohol, I do not recommend at all for him. His mind is already so fragile, if it is affected by-:

"Absolutely not. I mean, I agree." Harry said, quickly. "I'll only consider butterbeer when the time comes. That's a really super mild alcohol given to magical children of all ages. You couldn't get drunk on it if you tried, when you're magical. But right now, I'm still not comfortable with anything but water. And milk – he gets a bowl a day now. He shares it with Gik."

She simply nodded, not making reference to the fact that a human was lapping milk out of a bowl with a kitty. There were a lot weirder things about the situation with Harry and Severus than that. "Perhaps you should wait until-"

A very important thought occurred to Harry. "Oh, no. Wait. Not dinner. Wizarding restaurants have laws about people bringing slaves in. Some places don't allow it, and some make the slave have to kneel on the floor, next to the owner. That won't help him. I mean, that won't help him carry on a conversation with me. It's kind of hard at that angle, you know?"

"And Muggle establishments would likely refuse to serve the two of you, should you go there. Your behaviours would be very different than the norm, what they would expect." Dr. Brown added. "Find a place, a way to reach out to him, outside the home, outside the Wesley home-"

"Weasley." Harry corrected.

"Yes." she said. "In those environments, he has rules and memories that will compel him to act in the way he feels he must. But out of those ordinary environments, he might open up easier. Also, try encouraging him to open up to someone. At this point, anyone. But do not say it in a direct manner, or he will see it as an order."

_Yeah, but don't and risk him interpreting it as something completely different._

"Would a kitty work?" Harry asked, as the idea hit him like a herd of hippogriffs. "Severus has a kitty now – he's practically glued to the poor thing." He had already briefed Dr. Brown about Gik, but not in any detail.

Gik was a surprisingly tolerate kitty. She tolerated Severus grasping her 24/7, and handled Teddy's sticky hands surprisingly well. Last night, Harry had even let Gik sleep on Severus' bed – she had seemed okay this morning. Severus did seem overly careful with her, though, so perhaps that was to be expected. Harry just kept expecting her to be in worse shape - as terrible as it sounded, Harry knew how physically tiring it could be to be around Severus all the time.

"A cat would be perfect." Dr. Brown's eyes lit up. "Animal therapy is very helpful. Does the cat get along with him?"

It would kill Severus if she didn't. "Yeah, I mean, so far."

"Perfect. The cat may very well become a key to his recovery." A worried looked flitted across her face. "Do people in your culture have any special connections to cats? For example, the Egyptians worshipped cats."

"Um, not that I know of." Harry floundered. He might have learned about it through History of Magic had Binns not covered every detail possible on the goblin rebellion. "Most are fairly magical creatures – kids can bring them to Hogwarts."

"Good." she nodded. "So cats are not considered 'above' him in any way?"

"Pretty sure not, unless it's my kitty, or someone else's, like one of my friend's." Harry said. "But I think he's pretty much figured out that she's his kitty. I mean, as much as anything can be his."

"Well, I would encourage that, and of course, quality time outside the home to prove he can trust you." She looked at her watch. "I hate to do this to you, but I've another appointment."

"Oh, yeah, um, of course." Harry said, standing up, Teddy in his arms. "Come on, Teds – let's go out and spend some quality time."

* * *

The streets of Diagon Alley were a lot emptier than Severus remembered. Then again, he typically had only went to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies, and other similar things, at the busiest times of the year.

Why did his master – this master in particular – cause him to lower his Occlumency shields absent-mindedly? The answer was simple – Master had been in Severus' past life. He brought up memories in Severus' mind that his other owners had not.

It made it challenging, but Severus was used to challenges.

"Um," Master skirted a group of shouting priests, "is there any shops you want to visit? We could stop at the bakery and chat with that nice baker who gave you that hanky."

Why would it matter if Severus wanted to go anywhere? He was not to want. He did not exist to need.

"Or, um, you know, there's the owl shop." Master pointed out. "I mean, you don't know, they might have kitties for sale, too. Not that we're going to get another kitty, but you might want to, you know, look."

Why would Master care where Severus might want to go? His first instinct was to assume that Master was trying to manipulate him, to make him go where he did not want to go. But that simply did not seem like a thing Master had motive to do.

_Unless he thinks you know something about something, and thinks you are trying to deter him from it. _But then, why nor simply ask. Master was a lot of things, but manipulative simply did not seem to be one of them.

"Or, how about a bookshop?" Master said, holding open the door the Calvin's Bookshop. "You like books, don't you? And I have to pick some up – I'm going to join the Auror programme, you know, and the training is really intense."

Severus stopped in his tracks, and brought his bottom lip into his mouth.

What was he supposed to do? He could not walk into the shop, while Master held the door open for him. He could not. It was wrong. Improper. A shame. If Severus were at Master's home, it could or could not be another thing entirely, but they were in public. It would be a bad reflection on Severus' master, and Severus could not – would not – let Master be reflected badly upon due to Severus. Severus' master was wise, but perhaps he was testing Severus, or-

"Oh, right." Master stepped away from the door, letting it swing shut. "Severus could you please open the door for me?"

-or he had a lapse in memory.

Severus strode forward, and pulled open the door for his master and Master Teddy. He continued to suck his lower lip as Master said 'thank you, Severus', and walked into the shop.

Inside, Severus was greeted with familiar smells – and pressure on the Occlumency shields he worked hard on keeping up. A lot of smells and sights reminded him of different events, different people, in his past life, but he refused to think of them. He was a very poor slave, no better than a common breeding slave, but he was skilled at Occlumency. He knew that.

The smells of parchment. Of ink. Of vintage books. Of new books. Musty smells, smells of slightly singed paper, smells of a really good pot of tea. All smells of an excellent bookshop.

Severus had not read a book since Master and Mistress Weston had permitted him to read Mistress' romance novels, while he sat at their feet in the parlour. That seemed like many years ago, though he knew, in his mind that it had not been years, but had only been months.

It was a time he often yearned for.

"Severus, breathe." Master said in a low voice. "Don't forget to breathe."

Severus took a breath.

The book shop was not too filled with people, but there were people there. Some seemed to be looking at the fiction books, one seemed to be looking at books on magical creatures (where the smell of the singed paper had come from, no doubt). There was a shopkeeper, stacking books on the sale shelves.

"Feel free to go look at whatever you want." Master changed which side he held Master Teddy, who was squirming to get down. "Pick out a couple books for you to read, if you want. I'm going to go find defence books, okay?" Master bit his lip for a moment. "Are you sure it will be okay? You can stay by my side, if you want. It doesn't matter to me."

Master was going to look at defence books, and it did not sound like he wanted Severus by his side. He sounded like he wanted to be alone, judging by how he suggested Severus going off on his own first. He wanted to be alone for quite some time, if he wanted Severus to sit and read a couple of books.

Severus was not keen on leaving his Master's side, however. His master had not hurt him as of yet, and Severus was as sure as he could be of an owner's actions that Master would not allow another person to hurt him, save perhaps Master Ron Weasley or Mistress Granger. Alone, Severus was not guaranteed that safety.

"Yes, sir." Severus' curled his bare toes in the carpeted floor. "Would you like me to take Master Teddy, sir, so that you may look in peace, or-"

"What?" Master blinked. "Holy shi- no, Severus. I've got him. Don't worry about it."

_Don't worry about it._ That was, without a doubt, the most common order given to Severus by his current master. He was trying his best, but he knew better than any other slave around that trying was simply not enough.

"Yes, sir." Severus bowed, kneeling to the floor, briefly, before rising and leaving his masters be.

_You handled that quite well, _he congratulated himself. He knew he was not up to par with other slaves but at least his master had no need to be ashamed of him in public.

* * *

Harry felt himself reddening at Severus' display, barely having to guts to approach the salesperson to ask where the defence books were. Severus could make such a display sometimes. Harry was not often embarrassed by Severus himself, but by his sometimes over-the-top behaviour. Maybe his embarrassment would be felt by anyone, or maybe it was just part of the growing up he needed to do, so Dr. Brown all but said.

* * *

"Severus?"

Severus felt himself jump as Master came up behind him and spoke his name. He had been so engrossed in the book that he was reading that he had not heard him come up behind him.

He knelt on the floor, and murmured greetings to his master.

"What've you got there?" Master spied the book clutched in Severus' hand, as Severus rose. "_French for the Advanced Wizard_. Cool! I didn't know you spoke French! Or, you know, were ready for advanced French."

Severus had been owners by owners- Master and Mistress – who often spoke I French, as it was Mistress' native language. They spoke in it at the dining room table, at times when they were not wanting Severus to know what they were saying, or when they were arguing. They had spoken it often, literally, right over Severus' head, in the parlour, nightly.

Severus had been owned by owners who spoke French and had, at first, understood very little of it. He had managed to pick up a bit of it, but not all he could know. He would never be in a situation, so oblivious, again, if he would help it.

"French is a good language." Master nodded, stopping Master Teddy from tipping over a stack of books just in time. "Is the book good? Do you want it? You can get it- or, you know, I can get it, but you can read whenever you want. Even keep it in your room, you know, if you want it."

If Severus could bring home the book, he would be ecstatic. However, it would not be right to tell Master that, would it? It would not be the equivalent of outright asking for it, since Master offered, but did he really mean it? He could not. But then, what was his motive in asking?

"What do you think?" Severus asked, carefully. Of course, Master would reply with 'I don't think it'd be a good idea', like he often did when Severus offered to do something for him. Was it better for him to offer and say no, or-

"I do think that, if you want it, you can have it. But only if you want it. There is no obligation for you to learn French, Severus. None at all. But if you want to learn it, then we should get it." Master shook his head. "Am I making sense? No! Teddy! Don't!" Master recaptured the baby in his arms.

Yes. What Master was saying was that he would buy the book, if Severus wanted it, and from the way he spoke of it, that was it. No strings attached.

But there were never no strings attached, were there? There was always a catch. Why would one's Master offer to spend extra money on their slave when they did not have to? Unless there was a particular reason Master want Severus to learn French, or be preoccupied with a book. There was simply no reason for Master to buy the book. It was not logical. Master Weston, after all, had cared for Severus a great deal, and had never supplied Severus with anything extra, save an extra pair of clothing.

_You have no choice. He has offered it you. It would be disrespectful – rude – to say 'no'. An what was the worst that could happen? _Master could already do whatever he wanted to do to him. The only thing he could use it for would be to someone psychologically torture him with the fact, later.

Severus' father had taught him many things; he had taught him to never indulge in more than two drinks in one sitting. He had taught him to never-

The Occlumency shields went back up.

Severus had learned, at some point in his life, that you never accepted an offer until you knew everything attached to it. With the Occlumency shields as high as they currently were, Severus could not remember where he had heard that, or any significance the words held, but their meaning still held strong. You did not accept offers until you knew, or the things you didn't could be used against you.

Typically, Severus had little choice – if any – in these matters. But here, his master was quite surely giving him a choice, something Severus rarely had. Severus hated having to make choices – he rarely had to make them, so when he did, it made things outrageously frustrating. And frightening.

"M-M-Master?" He stumbled over his words, trying to carefully for his words in his mind before speaking them.

Master leaned closer to him, but he did not touch Severus, thank Merlin. "Yeah?"

"I am confused." That did not come out as planned.

"Severus, I am about to touch you." Master, quite gently – took Severus' chin into his free hand and angled Severus' head, so that Severus was looking down at just the right angle, right at Master. "Do you want to advance in French? Why doesn't matter – do you want to advance in French?"

Yes. It was very important to him. He wanted to because-

_'Why doesn't matter.'_

"Yes, sir." Severus admitted.

Master released Severus. "All right. Pick a couple books out. This one, if you like it, and another one, if you like. Meet me at the counter in a few, okay?"

_Two books?_ Master wanted to get two books that he had no use for, for Severus to read and study?

When Master left him, Severus looked back to the shelf. He liked the contents of _French for the Advanced Wizard_. It was taught well, with the pronunciations written instead of being pronounced by the touch of a wand. That was important to Severus, as one thing this master had not given him was his wand. Or a wand, even.

But did he really need another French book? French was a Latin-based language, so consequently, Severus picked up on their words quickly. And _French for the Advanced Wizard _was quite a large book. And there was running the risk of too much of a good thing. He was incredibly lucky to be allowed to 'get' the one book. There was no sense in pushing it when-

"Hey! Severus!" Master came over with two books in hand. "I found these on the sale shelf. I don't know if it interests you at all, but..."

One was a book of Spanish verbs. The other was_ German for the Advanced Wizard_. German, of all languages. German.

_Severus ducked his head between his legs, gritting his teeth as the intense pain continued. He did not scream – could not scream. He did not know if there were anyone nearby that did not own him – he would not want to shame his new owners by alerting others with screams, so that they would know that his master's new slave was _already_ being punished._

_Her curled his bare toes tight, and hugged his knees closer. A sob escaped his throat, but he swallowed hard and gritted his teeth again. Tears ran out of his eyes, spilling off his cheeks and onto his bare knees._

_The sob only seemed to anger his new master further. The pole or rod he was using to beat Severus with began to fall harder. Faster. One hit particularly hard on his shoulder. Something snapped._

_Severus screamed._

"Stirb! Stirb! Stirb, Sklave! Stirb endlich!_"__ Severus' master screamed, continuing to use the object to hurt him._

_The American man, - also a slave – had taken Severus to his new master, who appeared to be a feeble old man. But feeble, he was not. He had taken Severus down to a dark cellar, and began beating him, screaming at his to do or say something... and Severus had no clue what._

_And so the torture continued._

"Sev? Severus, are you okay: Master brought Severus back to the present. "What happened? What did I say? What did it make you think? Stop biting your lip."

Severus had not even realised he had been biting his lip. He stopped, running his tongue over the familiar bitter, iron taste of blood, which was on his lip.

"Ah..." Severus was not sure how he was supposed to answer the question. The book shop suddenly seemed a lot colder, and he wrapped his arms around him. "Ah... it was the German textbook, sir. It is not your fault, sir. Please – never Master's fault. It simply... distracted..." Severus looked down at the book again. The cover was a forest green, its title emblazoned with gold curlicued letters. It was thicker than the French one, not by much, however. The information that lied in those pages, the information that could give helped Severus pleased his German masters – the Monster and Master Müller – so much better. It was filled with information that could have saved Severus so much pain. It was information that, for whatever reason, might save him, and make him a better slave in the future.

It was information he desperately needed.

"It distracted you. Again. I see that." Master said. "Okay, cool. We'll get the French and German ones. That should last you about forever." Master handed the German book to Severus, before picking up Master Teddy and heading towards the sales counter.

Master wanted to get both of the books? But surely not for Severus to study at his leisure... he wondered the possibilities as he followed Master to the sales counter.

"These are for you." Master said, taking the books from Severus and placing them on the counter. "You can read them as much as you want. I promise – no strings attached."

No strings... attached? At all? None? How did Master know that was on Severus' mind? How had Master known, with Severus' Occlumency shields so high that not even the most powerful wizard in Britain could penetrate his mind?

(It did not occur to him that his master was, in fact, one of the most powerful wizards in the world)

"Thank you, sir." Severus kept his eyes to the floor.. "You are a good and kind master, sir."

"Um, I need these two books – the German was a Galleon off – and these two books, too." Master told the cashier.

"All right," the young cashier, no older than perhaps twenty years of age. "So, you're buying your slave books on languages? What's up with that?" He used his wand to tally up the total. "One day, I'm going to be a famous author, and have a big mansion and tons of slaves. I learn what I can when I get the chance."

Why would one want tons of slaves? Surely three or four could do a job quite nicely, even in a mansion. And that included one used strictly for pleasure.

"Oh." Severus could see out of his peripheral vision, Master looking at him. "Um, Severus just wanted to learn – or brush up or whatever – his languages. It's not like, I don't know, I'm making a profit off of it."

"You could have him be a translator for people." The cashier put the books in a bag. "Or rent him to people who spoke those languages. It'll be 11.42."

Master pulled out a small sack of coins. "Wow... you're really, um, entrepreneur-like." He began to count the coins. "But, no, Severus has already been owned by Germans – very nice people, he was owned by, but bad memories. I've got a feeling renting him out to Germans would bring back those unpleasant memories." Master handed over the money. "And the Germans have slaves of their own. They don't need Severus."

_But he has apparently thought this through,_ Severus felt a pit grow in his stomach, a bad feeling.

"Of course, Harry – it was just a suggestion. Hey, slave – look at me." The cashier ordered.

Severus lifted his head in obedience, and looked at the young man. He had a Yorkshire accent, short brown hair, and severe acne scarring. His eyes held a hard look as he looked at Severus.

"Do you remember me?" He asked, his voice even.

Severus could not recall having ever seen the cashier before. He looked as most people did to Severus – worth respect, but the face was nothing special, and would be forgotten within hours.

"No, sir." Severus put his eyes down. "I-I apologise, sir. I will-"

"Look at me!" He demanded.

Severus jumped and brought his eyes to the man. He jerked so violently when Master touched his arm that he fell in an ungracious slump on the floor of the book shop. His face burned in shame for his master.

"Stop!" Master said to the salesman. "Not another word! Come here, Severus – we're leaving."

Severus felt himself shaking so much that he had trouble standing steadily on his feet. It was not aided by the heavy paper bag of books he held in his arms.

"You crippled my sister!" The cashier shouted after them. "Snape! You ordered her legs cursed off! You ruined her life!"

"Shut up!" Master turned around, his wand pointed towards the cashier. "Shut up!"

Severus stared at the end of the wand. It was pointed to the cashier, Severus knew, but it was dangerously close to being pointed at him. And Master was defending himself against Severus' past transgressions. It made Severus feel so ashamed. He did not deserve the grand privileges his master gave him – ways for his master to punish him began to flash through his head.

The bag of books fell from his arms, shortly before Severus' knees gave out and he collapsed again to the floor. His knees gave an uncomfortable pop! As he went down.

Master's wand was still pointed at the cashier. Everyone in the shop stared – even Master Teddy, as young as he was, seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.

"I'm sorry your sister when through what she did." Master's voice shook as he spoke. "I'm sorry that the situation was so bad that that was what Severus felt like he had to do. Being headmaster of Hogwarts that year was probably one of the hardest, scariest things he's ever had to do. And he did his best – any other guy Voldemort might have put in charge – and he _was_ behind it – would have probably killed her."

Severus had taken away the limbs of a young girl? Why would he do that? He had had so many body parts cut off and reattached – he would never do that to another person.

"He-" The cashier reached for his wand, but Master quickly disarmed him.

"I'm sorry I didn't change things faster. I'm sorry Voldemort did all the bad things he did. And I'm sorry Severus did such bad things, but trust me, he's been punished enough for it. Ten times over, probably. And if you think it's your responsibility to dish out the punishment for him – my slave – you're not only as bad as he is, you're sadly mistaken."

Master knelt down to Severus. A woman with a baby carriage neared Teddy to keep an eye on him for Master.

"Hey, it's okay. You're fine." Master said, his voice soft. "No one is going to hurt you"

(_right now_).

"Come on – let's go home and read our books and drink some tea or something. I'll bet you're ready for some tea. And we'll make it some of that sleepy relaxing team so you'll sleep good for your nap. We can all take naps – me, you, and Teddy. In different rooms, I mean. Really long relaxing ones. What do you think?"

Now that Master mentioned it, Severus did feel extraordinarily tired. And at this time, if Severus was allowed a long enough nap, he could sleep straight into the next morning. That would mean a loss of a meal that Severus was not guaranteed but it also meant a loss of a bath that _was_. It was more than a fair trade.

They have Celestia Ann's brew for sale down the street." A bystander offered. "Their chamomile does wonders."

Severus had forgotten what tea tasted like. He could not remember when he had last had it, or how he liked it. If he liked it, for that matter.

"What the devil is this?" Severus spooked when a man, dressed in khaki uniform, came in, a puzzled look on his face. He was wearing a brown apron with the words Calvin's Bookshop written on it. "What's going on? Oh, God – Harry Potter. In my bookshop."

_You have made a scene. You are embarrassing your master my this display. No wonder he is bribing you with treats – he just wants you out of here, so that he can punish your for your acts._

He stood to his feet, the carpet burning his feet like it had ceased to do for quite some time – odd how he had not noticed it. His body shook as he bent down to puck up the spilled books, so he had to balance himself by holding onto the counter with one hand.

Master attempted to help Severus by placing his hands on Severus' arm serving as support.

Severus nearly dropped the books again at that unexpected touch, but somehow managed not to. He did, however, feel a sticky, warm liquid soak his robe and legs, and realised with shame that he had soiled himself – and the carpet of the bookshop.

"Let's go home and see Gik." Master said, taking the books from Severus arms, arms that felt extraordinarily numb and weak. "Try and- never mind. Let's see Gik."

Gik. Images of the kitten Severus had allowed himself to come to love flashed through his mind. The black and white kitten that always suck attention on Severus' lap, in the bed when Severus slept, on the floor when Severus spent his days, the kitten that often shared Severus' water bowl, which often made his master angry. The kitten that curled up next to Severus, awake and listening to Severus' whispers until they both fell asleep. A kitten that never told what Severus whispered, who always kept Severus' secrets, who understood, to a degree. Severus' friend. His only friend.

Severus suddenly ached to see her more than ever.

"What's going on?" The man in uniform, the shop owner, asked.

"Your cashier is an arse." Master said, taking Master Teddy from one of the mothers and quietly thanking them. A light flashed, blinding Severus, as a man took a photograph. "And as long as he works here, Severus and I will never come here again."

Severus followed Master our the door feeling ready to die of his shame for his master.

_It must be terrible to have such a slave_, Severus thought, staring up in misery at the dark clouds before reverting his eyes to the ground._ I would be better off never leaving Master's home again, just there with Gik, never venturing out to humiliate him again._

Because whenever Master went out in public and got humiliated, Severus was always at his side.

Always,.

* * *

Harry burned not with shame, but with anger, as he hurried to get Severus off the streets and home before it rained (which would most certainly trigger a water-related meltdown). He was angry for two specific reasons:

One, because some people felt it okay to treat others like shite, even when said person was not okay, not right in the head. There was being seriously pissed off at someone, and showing it, and being seriously pissed off and realising that showing it was only more harmful.

Two, he felt like he went a step forward, Severus, picking out books and agreeing to get them without a panic attack, or without absolute force. But the cashier put them two steps back. All that hard word Harry – and Severus – had put in to only get this far, and Severus had ended up wetting himself, from fear, in public.

One step forward, two steps back. That was the only way they seemed to move these days.

**Coming up next in _Unwell_...  
..._Chapter Fifty-One: _Currently Untitled**

**A/N: Thank you to everyone for your reviews. I cannot tell you how I enjoy them. Special thanks to **Angel-Miyu, Lady of Clunn, BetaForRent, and cloudshape to ennien for helping me with the German!


	51. Master Ron Gives an Order

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-One  
"Master Ron Gives an Order"**

* * *

Severus laid on his stomach, petting the purring kitten. Gik purred loud, her purrs filling the entire bedroom.

Severus' stomach made a growling noise, mimicking the sounds of Gik's purrs. The sound of his stomach was so loud that she turned to look at him, a question in her eyes.

"I did not have much to eat for the midday meal." Severus felt compelled to explain. "Master does not permit me to eat much. I am not sure why – it is expensive to feed another mouth, I realise, and sometimes, my stomach cannot hold too much at once."

Severus was lying in the bed he slept in. Master had taken him up for his nap what felt like hours ago. Severus and Gik had slept for quite some time – Severus was always tired for the map, and Gik slept for hours at a time, every day, all day. But they had both been awake for quite some time, and Master had yet to come for them.

"He did not forget." Severus assured Gik "Master never forgets about us. Perhaps he is also sleeping, or is very busy. He may simply not want us around – that is, he may not want me around. He does not mind you."

An uncomfortable feeling came in Severus' abdomen as Gik stretched out. It was a feeling that had been coming and going of late, when pressure was applied. It hurt, but it didn't worry Severus. It was not enough pain to bother him in the slightest – he had hurt much worse. Master told him that if he was hurt, if there was something wrong, to tell him, but this was so minor, it was hardly worth mentioning.

"It hurts more when I have to use the toilet." Severus said. "I am sure it had something to do with my age – it is nothing to worry over. I would now if it was – I have very good intuition about these things."

Gik jumped off Severus, relieving the pain, and padded over to the door. She began to scratch at the shut door, meowing.

"Master said that he will find out if he can put a second litter box, so we can have one in here. He thinks you may get confused if you have more than one." Severus rolled over onto his stomach, laying carefully so that the uncomfortable feeling did not occur, and watched Gik. He had to use the toilet, as well, but could not do it until Master let him.

Severus did not mind staying in the bedroom, just he and Gik He spent a lot of time doing it. He hated, however, getting ready for bed at night. Naps were fine, but at night, Master demanded Severus brush his teeth, let Master comb out his hair, shave him, and bathe him. Severus did not mind the brushing of the teeth – he only had a few in the front, anyhow, that were still there, as the rest had blackened and fallen out in the past ten months. Another consequence of getting older, Severus supposed. Really, he did not even remember it happening. It had likely happened at the Monster's or Master Müller's, for him not to remember it well. All he reallyremembered at the Monster's was a lot of pain. Master Müller's was all a blur.

Even combing the hair was not so bad, but the shaving was so terrible. To have such a sharp blade so close to his throat – Severus found himself shaking as Master used the razor, which did not help Master at all. Severus had been cut – fairly badly – several times. Master always apologised, saying that he had never used a razor to shave before, but Master really had no need to apologise – it was Severus' fault for shaking so much, and he knew it.

"The baths are the worst." He told Gik, who meowed in response. "I would not mind skipping them altogether – is taking them every night really necessary?"

Gik meowed again, her tail curling around her body as she looked up at him.

Severus sighed. "Yes, Master is always right, but I just wish he would let us do it ever other night." Was he still allowed to wish for things? In the back of his mind, he could remember not being allowed to at some point, but he could not remember who had ordered that. He was owned by a new master who had not given him that order, so it could not matter much.

Gik meowed her response, jumping onto the bedside table, tipping the lamp sitting there over, so that it fell with a loud _crash_!

Severus jumped, gathering Gik tightly in his arms as a reflex. "Gik! You could have broken it! Oh, Master will be so very-"

Gik meowed again, jumping off of Severus' lap and onto the floor. She circled the undamaged lamp, and meowed.

_She is trying to tell you something,_ Severus realised, a plan forming in his mind. Such an obvious plan, a dangerous plan, one a good slave would have never thought of. _You may get in trouble if you break something – you cannot do anything _wrong_, however..._

Master pushed the door open, his eyes wild behind his glasses. "What the hell was that?"

_He heard the lamp crash, _Severus realised as he got on his knees and bowed to his master. "Gik knocked down the lamp, sir." he told the truth, blaming Gik, who had darted from the room as soon as Master had opened the door. "She was trying to tell me something, sir. I apologise, sir. Please punish me in whatever way necessary."

Master picked the lamp up. "Nah, don't worry about it – it's not even broke. You wanna come downstairs? Sorry it took so long for me to come up – I was getting ready for dinner. Master Ron and Mistress Hermione are coming for it, you know."

Master was having company? Severus' plan could not be executed if there was company! It was borderline disobedient as it was, and the pain in Severus' forehead would possibly stop him as he began it... but there would be nothing but absolute perfection for company.

"May I ask a question, Master?" At Master's consent, he continued. "Is young Mistress Weasley coming?" Severus wished to know this because young Mistress Weasley always tried to play with Gik, which she could as she was Master's, but Severus did not like it.

Something, an emotion Severus knew as anger, passed through Master's eyes. He braced himself, all to aware that he was still on the floor, in near kicking distance.

"No. She's not invited." Master said, firmly. "Her boyfriend is probably with her, anyway."

Severus knew Master had once dated young Mistress Weasley, and deducted that Master was jealous, and hated the new boyfriend. And as all Severus really wanted in life was for his master to be happy, Severus hated the new boyfriend as well, whoever he was.

* * *

Dinner at Harry's turned out to be a lot calmer than it was at the Burrow. Maybe it was because he, Teddy, and Severus were at home which meant all the rules, wards, and expectations were all laid out. There was little worry over anything extra.

Harry spooned the stew into Severus' bowl, mindful of how much meat and potatoes Severus was getting compared to the easier-to-digest carrots, celery, etc. He watered it down with a bit of nutritive Potion before adding a spoon, something fairly new, but long overdue to incorporate into Severus' meals.

"Wow." Hermione said, taking a sip of tea. "Can you believe that it's almost been a year since all of this started?"

By 'all of this', Hermione had to mean Snape's slavery, his current condition, as September 1st was quickly approaching, marking the day Snape was arrested.

And no, Harry could not believe it. He still remembered, clear as day, the way Snape had appeared the night that had taken place. Tall, proud, completely sure of not only himself, but of everything around him.

And now, less than 365 days later, Snape was at his feet, drinking water out of a disk, and overly preoccupied with a kitty.

"Well, what's a year in the 19th century without a big adventure for us?" Ron said.

"20th century, Ron." Hermione corrected.

"Whatever."

"Have you guys applied for jobs anywhere yet?" Hermione asked. "I'm still debating between Cambridge, Brown, and King's."

"I'm applying only for the Auror Training Programme." Ron was stubborn. "I won't need to apply anywhere else."

_Shit_. It suddenly occurred to Harry that applications for the Auror Training Programme were probably due really soon. The Ministry let three groups in a year; in September, January, and May. The programme was an intense six months, at the very least. He had to hurry up, fill out an application, and send it in.

"When are the applications due?" Harry picked up Teddy's sippy cups, where it had fallen from Teddy's high chair tray. "I mean, if they weren't already. I've just been so busy with Teddy, and Severus' therapy and stuff, and-"

"On Monday." Hermione broke in. "Monday, August 2nd. You can fill it out and owl it in first thing in the morning. Fill it out tonight, while we're here so our eyes are on Teddy and Professor Snape for you."

_Professor Snape. _Severus had not been a professor, or just 'Snape', in a long time. It felt like an insult to Severus to call him 'professor', a vicious taunt.

Severus, however, had eyes that were bright and alert, even as he looked downwards in what he considered perfect submission. Harry didn't want to bring up the name thing now – it seemed like something that was best to bring up when they were alone, or when Severus was clearly Occluding. He didn't have much logic supporting this, but just instinct. And Harry's instincts were usually spot on, or had at least kept him alive for-

"Nineteen years." Harry said as the thought occurred to him.

Ron blinked. "Watch Teddy and Snape. Nineteen years. Okay, mate, you officially lost me."

"I'm nineteen in a few days." Harry realised. "My birthday is coming, and I forgot all about it." Harry had had more birthdays forgotten by others, and never celebrated, than he had had remembered by others, and celebrated, but it had never been forgotten by Harry himself. He always stayed up until midnight, so he could be awake the moment his birthday came.

In the year of 1999, though, he knew he would be so tired, he would crash at nine o'clock, right after he was sure Teddy and Severus were asleep.

"Oh, Harry, don't worry about it." Hermione patted Harry's hand. "Nineteen is nothing special. After eighteen,

(the legal age of adulthood in the Muggle UK)

not much is special, except for maybe fifty."

"Hey!" Ron said, brightly. "What if you fill out the form to apply tonight, maybe alone in your room or something, and Hermione and I can take care of things. Then, if it goes good, maybe you can hire a sitter or something for Saturday night."

Harry could see where this was going, and it was out of the question. One hundred percent completely, positively, out of the question.

"No way." He said. "Not happening."

"Harry, you need a break." Hermione pleaded with him. "You're going to crash and burn if you don't take some time - even if it's just a few hours this evening – to yourself."

"No." Harry said. He needed to be around at all times, in case 'Master Ron' said something Severus misinterpreted, or in case Hermione blinked and Severus chose that moment to... Harry didn't want to imagine it. If something went wrong, in the blink of an eye, Harry needed to be there, not only to save it the best he could as soon as he could, but to have himself to blame it on if he couldn't. He did not need Ron or Hermione to blame, for anything.

"You guys don't understand. Teddy is fine with a sitter or whatever, but Severus isn't in a position right now to be left alone. And if I were to let someone else take over, while I went out to a pub or something, I would worry so much the whole time that it wouldn't be fun at all, and I'd have a better time staying here than out there, worrying." He knew that from experience; leaving Teddy and Severus at the Weasleys for only a few hours a day while taking his NEWTs had been a complete nightmare. He probably had ulcers from the stress of that one fortnight.

"Not even for your birthday?" Ron persisted. "Harry, you don't have to be a soldier any more. You can take a break every now and again. It's better for you if you do."

"It's not up to you to save the world again, Harry." Hermione said. "Why don't we plan for Saturday night? You, Ron, George, and Neville, go out to the Three Broomsticks. I can't believe I'm telling you this," she shook her head, "but go get completely wasted, come home, take a Hangover Potion, sleep until ten. I'll leave, and you take over. As normal."

"Wait – you're telling me to get slobbering drunk?" Harry asked in amazement. "You?"

Hermione flushed. "It'd do you good. Do something reckless and immature, just this once. Consider it a trial run, because you're going to have to do something with Severus when you get in the programme. And don't forget, 'All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy'."

"Yeah? Well, it's a good thing I'm not Jack, then." Harry reached his hand down and patted the top of Severus' head, absent-mindedly. The idea of getting 'slobbering drunk' didn't sound so exciting – fun to go to the pub, maybe. A great way to spend time with his friends, before all of the Auror programme stuff, to be sure. Oh, and he wanted a break so badly. A break to not have to worry about fits, food, and triggers. To only have a few hours to forget dirty nappies and toilet trips, naps, sippy cup refills and bowl refills, temper tantrums and panic attacks. To forget about slavery, Voldemort, and just everything bad his life revolved around.

"I just can't." Harry said. "I mean, just for the sake of the argument, say-"

"-argument's sake." Hermione corrected.

Harry ignored her. "-say that Teddy stayed with your parents, Ron, for the weekend. What if you, Hermione, stayed with Severus? I couldn't relax – how could I – not knowing what's going on. I mean, tell me, how could I?"

"Hermione can do anything you can do, mate." Ron said. "She might not have the natural knack for Parseltongue you do, but she probably could, if she tried. She could watch Snape just as good as you can. I mean, she couldn't do any worse. Not that you're doing a bad job, I didn't mean that! It's just- oh, piss it."

Harry appreciated his verbally-challenged friend's sentiments. "It's not just watching him, guys – watching isn't really even needed. He just needs- look, let's stop talking about him like he's not here. I'm not going on some guy's night out, or trial run, or whatever you lot want to call it, and that's my final answer." He took a big bite and swallowed before continuing. "Why can't we keep having our nights in? Or, hell, out – with Severus, depending on where we want to go. We can drink and dance and whatever we can do in a pub here, can't we?"

That sounded pathetic, and from the looks on Ron's and Hermione's faces, they thought so, too.

"You'll never get a girl if you never get out." Ron took a big gulp of the Firewhiskey Harry was starting to keep on hand.

Yeah, but what girl is going to want to put up with my life, anyway? Harry followed suit, taking a large swallow of the burning liquid, cringing as it burned on its way down his throat, but welcoming the lack of inhibitions that would come after a few more sips (not too much – he had to see straight to put toothpaste on Severus' toothbrush in only a few hours).

"No trial runs, no girls." Harry sat his glass down, hard. "And that is my final answer. I mean it."

* * *

Severus rocked back and forth on his feet as he did the dishes. He found that by avoiding placing too much weight on any part of his feet, the pain in his feet did not occur quite as much.

He felt a bit ill, to his stomach, but knew why. It wasn't like when there was pressure on his stomach, when Gik stood on top of him, but it was because of those starchy potatoes, that meat, and Merlin only knew what had been in that broth. He had not been permitted much by his master, but had been so grateful that he had not thought twice about it. Grateful to have stew to eat, rather than porridge, puréed fruits and vegetables, and custard. Grateful for a meal, period. Grateful that his master saw fit for him to eat in the kitchen, while there were guests visiting. Severus supposed it would be different entirely if someone of greater to importance to Master was visiting, such as the Minister for Magic

(_who is the Minister, after all these- months. It has only been months._)

or a great and powerful wizard. Ranks mattered little to Severus, of course – there was slave and above. That was all that really mattered to him, when it came to ranks.

_Professor Snape, would you like some more stew? _Mistress Granger had said.

_Professor Snape, Snape, Snape, Snape. Professor Snape. Professor Snape. Professor, Professor, Professor, Pro-Pro- Professor..._ Severus could feel a headache coming on, no doubt due to what felt like banging on the doors of his memories. But he refused to open those doors. He refused to open them and let the flood of memories pour from them.

Her took a particularly stubborn piece of food off a plate with his fingernail, long though Master demanded to trim them every other day.

The ill feeling began a cramping in his abdomen, alerting him that if he did not sick up, the food would soon pass. Severus always waited until Master told him he was to use the toilet, never asked, but if it was an emergency, he surely could ask... except not tonight. It would be terrible behaviour to ask whilst there was company – he would be better off using the toilet _without_ permission.

Someone coughed behind him. "Hey, um, Sna- I mean, Severus? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

It was Master Weasley, come from the sitting room to speak to Severus. Alone.

Severus dropped to his knees and bowed to Master Weasley. "Yes, Master Weasley, sir." Severus said. "I am at your disposal."

Master Weasley did not snort or make some sort of joke Severus did not understand. He simply nodded. "Cool, so, um, don't let me bother you. I mean, dishes are a pain in the ass. I'll just talk while you do them, so you get done faster, yeah?"

The cramping increased as Severus began again on the dishes, but now he doubted it had much to do with a bowel movement. It was pure nervousness, the feeling of dreaded anticipation.

A feeling Severus knew well.

"So, Severus, how're you?" Master Weasley leaned against the counter top. "Bit tired, from the looks of it."

Severus was not supposed to look tired, just as he was not to look angry, worried, sad, or happy. He was supposed to be neutral. Not neutral. The epitome of neutral.

"I am well, sir, thank you." Severus gave what he hoped was a neutral answer.

"Cool." Master Weasley began to twiddle his thumbs. "So... You see – you don't have much dishwater in the sink – sure that is enough to wash dishes in?"

Severus looked down at the dishwater. There were a couple inches of water in there. Water that was fine, in perfect amount. In Severus' feeble and non-important opinion, of course.

"My Master has not complained, sir." Severus bowed his head as he continued to scrub, hoping that Master Weasley would not ask for Severus to use more water. For then, Severus would have to obey, and Severus did not want to. Not about obeying – Severus lived and breathed to obey – he simply did not want to turn on the tap to use more water.

"Well, it's fine. I'm not trying to be a nit-picker. I'm just, well, stupid as it sounds, scared to talk to you in here alone." Master Weasley looked behind him. "But don't tell anyone I said that."

Severus would take that secret with him to the grave.

"But look, I guess you heard what we were trying to convince Harry to do, earlier. Go to a pub, or out dancing, or something. A night on the town. But I guess you heard his response."

Master did not want to leave Severus in his home, alone. He did not trust Severus. The thought worried him. _Worried_ him. Severus tried so hard to be obedient, to not step a toe of of line, and his master was too worried about his behaviour to go have a smoke in the Three Broomsticks. It was sickening.

_Maybe you should not go through with your plan..._

But then, his betters had ceased to continue discussing it. Master had not wanted Severus to hear the conversation, a fact that made Severus feel foolish – of course, he should have not been listening. For shame.

"Yes, sir." Severus said. "He said that he did not think it wise to do so."

"Yeah, well, I'm thinking you could fix that." Master Weasley was examining his fingernails. "After all, you heard him, right? You probably know best what he's worried about. Couldn't you try talking him into some sort of trial run? As terrible as this is, the day had come where your words mean more to Harry than mine do. No offence."

Severus turned this over in his head. "I cannot indicate in any way that I think my master is wrong. He is not – he never is."

Master Weasley did snort now. "Right. But could you at least try to convince him? Please? I'm begging, Snape."

It was wrong that someone above him felt the need to beg him. "I will, sir. Try. I apologise for hesitating, sir."

"Great." Master Weasley beamed. "Now, the loo and I have to go for a long overdue visit. That's where Harry thinks I am now, actually. God, he probably thinks- never mind, I don't want to know what he thinks."

Severus stood, staring at the two inches of soapy water in the basin. That was going to be tricky, to change Master's mind, but Severus had to try. He had been ordered to.

* * *

"Thanks, Harry – we had a great time." Mistress Granger said, receiving a kiss on the cheek from Master. "I really wish you would invite Ginny next time though – she's out of school, too, you know, and misses you like crazy."

"Ginny isn't welcome here as long as she's dating that – sorry, Ron, but that's just how it's going to be. I love Ginny, but until she's over this dating phase of her life-"

"I don't like it any better than you do, mate. No one does. She says she has good reasons for dating him though. George pointed out that you can't be a member of Spew and date him, but she won't quit. Spew and dating him both, I mean." Master Weasley said.

"Let's not talk about it." Mistress Granger said. "We love Ginny, but not her boyfriend. End of story. Goodnight, Severus!" She said, cheerfully.

"Goodnight, Mistress Granger." Severus remained kneeling on the sitting room carpet.

"Oh, call me 'Hermione' – I'm not a mistress to anyone." she laughed.

Any female currently in Severus' life was a mistress. Mistress Granger was not wrong, as she was Master's friend, but surely mistaken.

"Yes, Mistress Hermione." Her name sounded like either a terrible disease, like 'leukaemia', or as if it belonged to a leggy blonde. Both of which she was not.

"Ooh, can I be 'Master Ron'?" Master Weasley asked, eagerly. "Can I be 'Ron' instead of 'Weasley'?"

If allowed to use first names, a slave was to. That is, if one was told to change the wording of a title, they were to, no questions asked.

That made the elder Master Weasley 'Master Arthur' and the one in the room 'Master Ron'. There were still many 'Master Weasleys', however. Severus doubted that he would ever stop using the term.

"You can call George, Percy, Bill, and Charlie by their first names, too." Master Ron said. "It would make everything sound a lot simpler. I like simpler."

"Yes, Master Ron." The word 'Ron' did not have the same romantic sound that 'Hermione' did.

"Thanks guys." Master said. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Master Ron and Mistress Hermione chorused.

Master Ron winked at Severus, just before the door shut.

Master turned to Severus. "You did really well, Severus – I'm really proud of you. Oh, shite – it's almost nine. Way past your bedtime – look at Teddy. He fell asleep in his playpen."

Indeed, Master Teddy had fallen asleep in his playpen, his baby cage.

"I'll go run the bath water." Master said, stretching and yawning. "Why don't you go ahead and take your robes off?"

Severus' stomach started to church as he racked his mind through the list of reasons and excuses he had come up with. That Gik had encouraged. The worst that could happen to Severus, he recklessly reasoned, was that Master should punish or sell Severus. But Severus already expected that both of those would happen, so if that did happen, it would only take the dreaded anticipation out of the situation.

"M-M-M-Master?" Severus struggled not to stutter, but that seemed to only make it worse.

Master stopped in his tracks, turned, and blinked at Severus, as if surprised that Severus spoke. But Severus himself was, so that was not too surprising.

"Yeah?" Master asked.

Severus bit his lip. "I-I-I was just curious."

Master locked his hands together. "Yeah?"

_He sounds terribly impatient. Just stop. You are being a bad slave. Gik had a terrible idea._

_You have gone batty. Kittens do not have-_

"Do I put enough dishwater in the sink basin?" Severus rushed the words out.

Master blinked again. "What?"

Severus felt as if he were going to cast the contents of his stomach. The pain in his abdomen began again. He could not do this.

"M-M-Master Weas- Ron. Master Ron sug-sugested that I-I-I-"

"Severus, the dishes are fine. Don't worry about it." Master said. "Now, let's take a quick bath, and-"

Let's? As in 'let us'? 'Let us take a bath'. That implied that two would be taking the bath. Severus had never been used in a situation involving a bathtub, save the daily touching from Master as he bathed him, but the was Master worded this implied worse. Much worse.

"Sir?" Severus blurted out. "Gik? Where's the kitten?"

"Kitties do not like to take baths, Severus." Master said, his voice quieting. He knelt down to Severus height, on the floor. "Don't worry about the dishwater or Gik. I've yet to find a dirty dish in the cupboard, and Gik is somewhere in this house, I promise. She will be in your bed tonight to sleep."

_I do not want to take a bath!_ But there was no use in further trying to postpone the dreaded activity – the pain the mark on Severus' head caused was blinding.

"Yes, s-sir." Severus stood shakily on his feet, blinking back tears of pain, fear, and frustration. And shame. What did he know? If Master thought Severus needed both tortured and bathed daily in water, so be it.

**Coming soon in **_**Unwell...  
**_**Chapter Fifty-Two: **_**The Interference**_


	52. A Much Needed Conversation

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Two  
"A Much-Needed Conversation"**

* * *

"Are you comfortable on the floor, Severus?" Mistress Brown asked. "Are you sure you don't want to sit on the sofa? Harry isn't here, sitting on it. It shouldn't be a problem."

Severus had not sat on a sofa in such a long time. It was a luxury he did not deserve. "Yes, miss – I am comfortable."

One side of the Rubik's Cube was a solid green, but the other sides were completely disorganised.

"Your master took Teddy to a childcare centre nearby, to visit, and then to the Weasleys. He will be back in an hour or so."

Severus knew that. Master had explained that he was looking to find a place for Master Teddy to stay a few days a week, in the future. Master had explained it for the same reason he said most of what he did to Severus - he had no one else to explain it to. Not that it concerned Severus, but that if Master did not speak, the house was completely quiet.

"I heard you got some books at the bookshop." she said. "What are they called?"

What did it matter, was what Severus wanted to know. But, dutifully he replied "_French for the Advanced Wizard_, miss. Also, _German for the Advanced Wizard_."

The solid side of green taunted him – Severus twisted one end, to stop the green from all matching up. He could figure that part out again, later. The green side was likely trying to throw him off.

"Both of them? Impressive. What inspired you to learn those languages?"

Severus wished Master would come back, so Mistress Brown would speak to him, as always. He did not like how, of late, she tried to talk to him.

"My old Masters – and Mistress – spoke those languages." Severus turned the Rubik's Cube over in his hand.

"Ah. So why did you want to learn them?"

Why did she care so? Why did she persist so? "Master and Mistress Weston spoke French quite often." Severus repeated his earlier answer. "If I knew French, I would be more useful to my master, as well as to future owners."

His stomach began to churn. He did not often share the thoughts that ran through the brain. He spoke with Gik – increasingly so, in fact – but it was almost as if Mistress Brown expected him to bare the soul.

"Could you tell me more about Mr. and Mrs. Weston, Severus?" Mistress Brown asked. "I don't know them, but I sure would like to hear about them."

Of course she would. Everyone did. They were fine, upstanding, well-dressed, and wealthy. They had also likely bought another male slave to perform Severus' job better than he had.

One that did not scream when penetrated with sharp objects in Master's work office, preferably.

"They are very wealthy." Severus tried to choose information that would be of interest to her. "Master Weston owns a business. I apologise – I am not sure what he does, or what type of business it is. Mistress writes long correspondences to influential people, delivered by her snowy white owl. They have a young son, who attends school at Durmstrang."

"I see." She said. Severus could see out of the corner of his eye that she was writing something down. "Do you want to tell me what your life was like there, Severus?"

Master Weston was a good and kind Master. Mistress was Severus' former owners, and deserved respect, but Severus did not have to like her, or harbour happy or kind memories of her.

He did not want to talk about being used by Master Weston. He did not want to describe the anal plugs, the clamps, the dim closet, the panic that came when Mistress came home early, unexpectedly, from her Ladies Club, the 'games' Master Weston had had Severus play – usually in the nude. Which was far more comfortable for Severus these days, but back then...

"Must I, Mistress?" Questioning her caused a severe burning in his forehead, as he bravely – and quite foolishly – questioned her.

He watched her lower her pen from her notepad. She blinked. Not just a blink, however. A blink of surprise.

She had not expected Severus to respond like that. He had not either, actually.

"Well then, that's fine." She said, just as Severus opened his mouth to apologise. "You don't need to talk about it just now, if you don't want to."

Severus continued to hold his breath, not yet convinced.

"Remember anything you tell me, I will not tell your master. You are a human being, and are entitled to some privacy. There are times that I may recommend you tell your master something, or that I may ask to repeat it back to him, but you will be giving me permission."

Privacy. That was what Master kept saying, at random and increasingly frequent interverals. But it made little sense to Severus. That was not to say that it did _not_ make sense – Severus was sure that the knowledge backing up Master's logic was fabulous – it was just that Severus was not enough to understand.

* * *

Severus was happiest when serving his master, when pleasing his master. The sheer happiness that filled him when he saw his master smile as something he did (though not directly at him) was worth all of the confusion and pain.

He did not think, however, that he would be getting it now.

"Something on your mind, Sev?" Master stepped off the curb, holding out his arm to signal Severus to not run out into the Muggle traffic. Severus walked a distance behind his master at all times, so he had plenty of time to stop and avoid the bus.

A slave did not have the right to conceal anything from its owner. All actions, thoughts, and feelings were all to be conveyed if instructed, or even hinted at. The privacy Master spoke about Severus having a 'right' to could in no way be that. Perhaps he referred to the shutting of the bedroom door whilst Severus slept.

"Yes, Master, there is." Severus confessed. He ignored the odd looks he got from Muggles in the street for addressing Master by his proper title.

"Grab my hand." Master commanded as they prepared to cross the busy multi-lane street. "What is it?"

Severus reached out and took his master's smaller hand into his own. He had never held a master's hand before – it made following behind difficult.

"I have been asked to convey to you something." Severus said as they safely got onto the busy London pavement. "Please, Master – your slave is not saying in any way that you are wrong – Master is never wrong."

"Is that so?" Master, although the street was crossed, did not let go of Severus' hand.

"Yes, Master." Severus said, trying to think ahead of himself so that his words were conveyed clearly. "Master, what are your plans for the evening?"

Master stopped, causing Severus to nearly bump into him. "My plans? Um... the same as usual, I guess. Teddy is going to be at the Weasleys til late, so I'm going to write something for the Auror programme, some follow-up they want me to do, and we'll... I don't know. Why? Do you want to play checkers or something?"

No, Severus did not want to play checkers. To just play checkers would be like... a slave was not to sit down and play checkers against his master. Unless his master asked him to, of course, but that would be very odd. Severus did not know if he was capable of even playing checkers any longer.

"No, sir. I was inquiring because..." because why?

"Hold on – let's get home and we'll discuss. Ready?"

Did Severus have a choice? "Yes, sir."

Master Apparated them home.

Master gestured to the sofa. "Sit down; let's talk about it. That is to say that you don't _have_ to sit down, but if you want to..." Master sat down on the arm of the sofa, visibly uncomfortable.

Severus knelt on the floor, next to the sofa. The floor was always more comfortable than the sofa. He always felt... safer. He had never once been punished by anyone for taking his seat on the floor rather than the sofa, and had a fair amount of confidence that it would not start with his new master.

Master slid off the arm and onto the sofa, his knees at eye level with Severus' head. Instantly, Severus had a flashback to Master Mering, who, at the most random of times, would call Severus in to pleasure him with his mouth, whilst Master Mering was sitting in such a position.

Severus shut his eyes tightly and began shaking his head. _No, this is not Master Mering. This is _Master_. Master will not make you do that just now._

"Severus?" Master asked, concern in his voice.

Severus looked up to see Master gazing down at him, a concerned look in his eye.

_Master is not Master Mering_, he reminded himself once again before taking a deep breath. "Master, forgive me; it is not my place to ask."

"Ask what?" Master asked, kindly. "Come on, you know I'm not going to punish you for anything."

Outwardly, Severus kept his expression the same. Inwardly, he cringed. How was he supposed to know when he was being bad? How was he supposed to know the limits if he never got punished? He needed to be punished when he was bad. But he could not tell Master to punish him - that would be an order.

"Yes, sir." Severus said, hiding his discomfort inside. "Sir, it has not escaped my notice that you spend quite a lot of time here, at your home."

"It's your home, too." Master interjected. "Wherever I live is always your home, too, Severus."

Severus did not believe him. He had lived at too many places that were supposed to permanent, to get kicked out. Sooner or later, he would be put on the auction block again, or perhaps be for sale privately, and go off to live with another owner. But he could not tell Master that; to not believe Master was one thing, and his own foolishness, as Master was always right, without fail. To tell your master that you did not believe them was to have a death wish.

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Severus said quietly, looking down at his lap. "Sir, I realise that what you do or why you do it is none of my business, however..." he bit his lip.

"Don't do that." Master said, suddenly. "You're going to hurt yourself."

Severus looked up. What on earth was Master speaking of?

Master conjured a handkerchief and reached out to Severus, who flinched. "It's okay, Severus; your lip is bleeding. I'm just going to hold this to there. Come on, quit biting down and open your mouth a bit."

Severus became vaguely aware of the bitter taste of blood in his mouth. He had bit down on his lip too hard. "I apologise, Master." He said, following the instructions Master gave him, unable to help but flinch again when Master touched the handkerchief to his lip. He cast his eyes to his knees. "Please forgive me and punish me in whatever manner you see fit."

"No punishing; you just got nervous, that's all." Master said, easily. "I do that too, sometimes, biting my lip. You need to get out of the habit, though. You bite it too much, so it bleeds really easily." Master paused as he continued to dab Severus' lower lip. "That's not an order, by the way."

"Yes, sir." Severus whispered the best he could with Master continuing to clean up his lip. Master often said something was not an order, even though it was. If Master wanted something, it was practically an order. Even if Severus was not to call it an order, it was still Master's will, which must always be done.

"All right, so where were we?" Harry asked, banishing the handkerchief.

Severus sucked his lower lip into his mouth. It wasn't bleeding any longer. "Sir, due to something someone said, I was curious to know why it is that you spend your evenings at home." He cringed. That came out wrong. "It is not that I will do anything wrong or disrespectful out of your presence, sir. I would watch your baby, and keep the house clean, and do chores..." he looked up at Master's face. "Please, sir?"

Master looked suspicious. "Who said what?"

"Master Ron." Severus said.

"Severus... you know you can call him just plain 'Ron', you know?"

Severus couldn't do that. That was just... horribly wrong. Beyond wrong. If he even thought about it, that would warrant fifteen lashes, at least. "Must I, sir?"

"No, you don't have to. 'Master Ron' is fine." Master paused.

Severus nodded. "Master Ron asked if you would perhaps go out to drink with him and friends at The Leaky Cauldron."

"I see." Master had a dark look in his eyes. "He told you that you were perfectly capable of babysitting Teddy?"

"No, sir!" Severus said, quickly. "He told me no such thing about babysitting your child! He merely said that you could find someone to watch him, and..." Severus paused. "I realise that you do not trust me with him, and that bothers me, sir." He hesitated. "You did tell me to come to you, sir, if something made me uncomfortable."

The look in Master's eyes softened. "I did." He told Severus. "But... but it's not that I don't trust you with Teddy, Severus; there are just too many things that could go wrong that I don't think you're prepared for."

Like what? Severus had ran very many scenarios through his mind, from the house catching on fire, to the baby choking, to burglars, to the baby crying in the night (which he normally did)... he could not think of one thing he was not prepared to handle. But he couldn't question Master's thoughts on it - it would be like arguing. "Yes, sir."

Master ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up more than it already was. "See, Severus, it's really complicated. He's a picky eater, and his food needs warmed up before he can eat it. And Teddy needs changed a lot, too. He's too little to use the loo, so he goes in his nappy and that can make him really fussy." Master explained.

Severus knew all about that. He knew how babies were cared for. He had never done it before, but it could not be that hard.

"And when he cries, he can be _really_ loud." Master continued. "I mean, so loud that I think he's gonna bust a lung or something. When you're around, I usually put a deafening charm up so you don't hear it as loud as it really is. I think it'd scare you."

He had faced The Monster. He was not going to be afraid of a crying baby.

"It's more stressful than it looks, Severus." Master smiled gently, "I am really happy that you offered to help, but I don't think it's a good idea, not now."

Severus' shoulders slumped. He had thought Master would agree. Surely Master was tired of sitting home all night, every night. Other men his age, with his level of freedom, did a lot of things for fun. Master should be out doing those things, too.

But he couldn't, because Severus was not good enough to take care of the baby.

"I am sorry, Master." He said, looking down again. "Please punish me in whatever manner you see fit."

"Punish you?" Master seemed outright surprised. "Why would I _punish_ you, Severus? For offering to help me? That was a very kind and wonderful thing you did. I'm proud of you for asking."

Severus squirmed. He had nearly begged Master to punish him and still, Master hadn't. He wished Master would deprive him of a meal, or hit him over the head, or try to drown him in water... or something. Just to know where they stood.

"Why do you think I should punish you, Severus?" Master asked Severus, quietly.

What was he supposed to tell Master? Always the truth, of course. but how to phrase it could be a life or death matter... "I am a bad slave, sir." He could only look down at his knees while he spoke. He certainly couldn't face Master, not when he was so ashamed of himself. "You should be able to trust me with your very life, and you are unable to. You should be able to tell me to do something without fear of me doing it wrong. And for that, I apologize, sir." He hung his head. Perhaps Master would start letting him start to punish himself. House-Elves did it, and it proved to be very efficient.

"Severus, look at me." Master said, quietly.

Severus nearly bit his lip, but remembered just in time not to as he looked up at Master.

Master's eyes were filled with... something. Severus had trouble making out what it was. It wasn't anger, it wasn't annoyance, it wasn't... what was it?

"You're not a bad slave." Master said. "You're not a bad anything. You are perfect, all right? Absolutely perfect, do you understand me?"

Even further ashamed, Severus shook his head.

"What don't you understand, Severus?" Master wanted to know.

Everything, Severus wanted to say. But he couldn't say that. "I don't understand why you think... or how you could say..." he hung his head. "Master, I'm struggling."

Master reached his hand out and began running his fingers through Severus' hair, despite Severus' flinching. "I mean exactly what I say, Severus. Sometimes you do things that aren't good ideas, or that I wish you didn't do, but that doesn't make you bad. It makes you... misinformed. You're not _trying_ to do bad things - they just happen when you're trying to do good things, right?"

That was true enough. When Severus had tried to rearrange Master's books, he hadn't tried to be bad; he had tried to be good. When Severus had tried to make breakfast one morning, he hadn't tried to be bad; he'd tried to be good.

"Whenever you do something that displeases me, it's because you're trying to please me, and that doesn't make you bad. It doesn't make me mad at you, either." He continuing threading his fingers through Severus' hair. It felt oddly comforting.

"If you're concerned about my social life," Master smirked a bit, "then perhaps I will go out one evening. But I do not think it's a good idea for you and Teddy to stay alone just yet - maybe Mrs. Weasley could come stay for a few hours? Would you like that?"

No, Severus would not. But he had been too honest with Master for the past several minutes. He was supposed to be making Master happy, not himself.

"If she must." He responded.

Master shook his head. "Would you rather someone else come?"

Severus nodded, looking back down at his knees as he admitted, "Yes, sir."

"All right, then. I'll talk to Hermione, or George. Or Bill, or Fleur, or Neville, or Luna, or Mr. Weasley, all right?" Master paused. "Do you have any problems with any of them?"

Severus blanched involuntarily. He did not want to see Master Longbottom. No, not at all. He did not know why... something in his gut warned him. "Please not Mr. Longbottom, sir!" He clasped his hands in begging. When he begged Master for something, Master was not like The Monster and made sure that he didn't get it, or vice-versa. Master kept him safe.

Master nodded. "Okay, then. No Neville. Do you want to tell me why you're so scared of him? You don't have to, if you don't want to."

"Must I, Master? His voice came out in barely a whisper. He didn't know why.

"No." Master said. "No, you don't. Come here." He let go of Severus' hair and patted his lap.

Severus looked, unsurely. What was he supposed to do? Was it finally time to- he reached his hands forward and began to work the fastener of Master's trousers.

Master yelped, jerking away. "No, Severus!" He said, pushing Severus' hands away and zipping back up his trousers. "I didn't mean that!"

Severus hung his head. "I apologize, Master. I misunderstood. Please punish-"

"Don't worry about it." Master said. "I was an idiot for not making myself clear. I meant come closer, is all."

Oh. Master was not ready to be pleasured by Severus. Severus nodded and walked on his knees until his chest touched Master's knees. "Like this, sir?" He asked, quietly.

Master nodded. "Yeah." He reached up and began to run his fingers through Severus' hair again, once again ignoring Severus' initial flinch. Severus didn't mean to flinch - he didn't even know why he did it. He just hated it when people touched him, because it always meant bad.

_Why is he doing this,_ Severus wondered. But he could not ask Master - he had stepped out of line more than enough for one evening.

"Lay your head down." Master said, softly. Ordered, softly, that was.

Severus inwardly swore. He could see where this was going, now. After all that time, after being so sure of how things were... he laid his head down on Master's lap, fully expecting to have his head come in contact with a hard tent in Master's trousers.

But there was not one.

As Master continued stroking Severus' head, Severus' mind raced. _What is he doing? What does he want? What am I supposed to be doing?_

"You know, your hair is not as greasy as it used to be." Master commented. He began rubbing Severus' head.

Severus had to admit, it felt better than it should have.

"Yes, Master." Severus said, quietly, not knowing what to say to that.

Master was quiet for a few moments. "Do you ever think about that, the way things used to be?"

"Not often, sir." Severus replied honestly.

Master's rubbing momentarily ceased. "Why not?"

Had Severus said something wrong? "There are nothing more than distant memories now, Master. I have pushed them back too far into my mind for them to ever resurface, lest I want them to."

"And you don't want them to?"

Why would he? "Do you want me to let them, Master?" Severus asked, unsurely. He really did not want to think about his past. He hadn't thought about it in a long time, and did not know what he would be able to make of his memories, if he were able to make anything of them at all. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

"No, not now, not unless you want to." Master said. "And I mean it, Severus; only if _you_ want to."

"Yes, sir." Severus said, closing his eyes, giving up wondering what Master was getting at by rubbing his head like that. Perhaps he was just doing it to be nice, like when his other master had pet him for simply being a good Pet.

Master seemed to be on a similar thought train. "Do you like this, Severus?"

_He will not stop just because you say 'yes',_ he reminded himself. "Yes, sir." He did not admit it this time - he merely confirmed it. It felt good.

"So do I." Master said. Severus could feel him slightly shifting positions from under him, but not enough to affect anything.

"Severus?" Master asked again a few moments later.

"Sir?" Severus returned.

"Are you angry with me?"

At those words, Severus pulled back from Master in shock. "Of course not, sir!" He exclaimed, looking at his Master in shock.

Master was spread out comfortably on the couch, looking at Severus in somewhat of a daze.

"You're not?" Master said. "Even though... even though I bought you and everything?"

Sometimes, Severus could really not understand Master. "Of course not, sir!" he repeated. "I've no control of whoever purchases me! Why should I be angry at you and not my other masters?"

Severus was property to be purchased as one pleased - his opinion on it didn't matter. He couldn't remember ever really having much of an _opinion_ on who bought him. Wishful thoughts, perhaps.

"Oh." Master said, blankly. "I just thought, you know, since you used to hate me, that... that you'd be mad that I bought you."

Severus bit his lip. "I apologise for that, Master." He looked down. "If you were to pun-"

"No." Master sighed. "Severus, no punishing. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

_I don't know, how many times? _Severus swallowed hard. "I apologise, sir. I-I will stop saying that."

Master shook his head, causing Severus to look back up. "Severus, I'm running out of ideas. I really don't know what to do any more. Would you like me to punish you, is that it?"

Severus did not know what to say to that. "If that is what you deem appropriate, Master." He said.

Master pinched the bridge of his nose. "Severus, why do you feel like you need to be punished? Not what do you feel like you need punished for, but why do you _need_ punished?"

He did not even know how to put that into words. "Sir... I am your slave." He said, plainly. "I need you to punish me... unless I have your permission to punish myself?"

"Not a chance." Master said, quickly. "That's not good enough of a reason, Severus. I don't see you as my slave; I see you as my friend. I don't want to punish you unless it's necessary."

Severus sighed. "Master, I have behaved so very badly since you bought me. And you have not punished me, not once. If you don't, I am afraid for what will happen to me." He paused. "Wizards live to be two hundred and thirty, Master. I have one hundred and ninety more years to live as a slave, and I do believe, regardless of your intentions, that it is foolish for me to believe that I will spend them in the company of such a kind master such as yourself, which I do not deserve." He hesitated. "I cannot unlearn what I know, Master, for two reasons; I will become a very bad slave, and get punished so very severely if someone else purchases me, and... and if I unlearn what I know, then I will have nothing left."

There was a long silence after that. Master seemed to be thinking about what Severus said, and Severus was thinking about it, too. It was very true; if someone else bought him or came in possession of him, they would have no choice but to send him back to a trainer's. Severus did not want to be trained again - he would give every bone in his body (not that he owned the bones or his body) to avoid it.

And as for the second thing... Severus now only knew how to be one thing; he knew how to be a slave. He knew how to be that well. Even though he was a bad slave, he knew how to be a good one. He had been a good one before, he thought. That was why he needed to be punished; so that he would not become an even worse slave.

Master finally sighed and began to nod, though reluctantly. "All right, Severus, here's the deal. Next time you think you should be punished - and I mean, honestly think you should be punished - you come tell me, all right, and we'll figure something out."

Severus nodded, a worry that had been on his shoulder for months released. Master was going to punish him. There would be no more worry, no anticipation... save for what the punishment might be. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He inclined his head.

Master was silent a moment. "You like Dr. Brown well enough, don't you?"

Severus supposed so. "Yes, sir."

"Well, she likes you, too. But-"

(there was always a 'but' after it was mentioned someone cared for Severus)

"-she doesn't feel like she's going to be able to give you the kind of help you need. So," Master took a breath, "we're going to try something different, you know?"

Severus did now. "Yes, Master."

"Okay." Master sighed, standing up. "I think I need to go to bed early tonight, so I'd better start on that Auror programme thing. I don't care if you want to stay up for awhile, but we've got to get you a bath before Teddy comes back."

Severus stood, as well. "Yes, sir." He followed Master into the bathroom, and once inside, began pulling off his clothes .He was now forbidden to undress anywhere by his bedroom or the bathroom. "You... you are not angry with me, sir?" He paused in pulling his robes over his head.

Master shook his head. "No, Severus. Not at all. I'm just tired. I've had a lot to think about tonight."

Severus bit his lip as he watched the tub fill. He had stressed Master out a lot tonight. To make a fuss about bathing would be unthinkable.

"Severus!" Master said, conjuring a handkerchief once again and placing it to Severus' lip. "I mean it, you've got to stop biting it. Try sucking on it, all right?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, sir." He said, taking the handkerchief from Master and holding it to his own lip.

Master sighed. "It's okay." He took Severus' arm and balanced him whilst Severus got into the tub.

Severus tried very hard not to think about the water that he was in. He still hated water, with everything in him. The roaring sound as the water rushed from the tap into the tub did not help.

Master wordlessly passed Severus a plastic cup to use to pour water on his body. Severus could bathe himself, for the most part. Except for his hair and face. Master always washed his hair and face for him. Severus still got really afraid whenever Master poured water over his head and it got in his face. He did not have many panic attacks in the tub these days, but they still happened, which was why Master always stayed in there with him, the whole time, in case something went wrong.

The night had gone very strangely. It had gone from Severus simply trying to relay a message and offer to watch Master's baby, to getting into what seemed like near-arguments with Master. Master had petted him. Did he think of Severus like that, like a pet? No; he did not do the things that his other master had done with him, earning him the name 'Pet'. Master simply did that because... why?

Severus supposed he'd never figure it out. Master, Mistress Hermione, Masters and Mistresses Weasleys... they were all free Gryffindors, the lot of them. Severus, as a Slytherin slave, no matter how hard he tried, would never be able to understand them.

**Coming soon in _Unwell_...  
Chapter Fifty-Four: _A Much-Needed Outing_**


	53. A Much Needed Outing

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Three  
"A Much-Needed Outing"**

* * *

Harry double-checked his wallet and small money sack. "Okay, Hermione - Teddy is asleep and Severus is in bed. He won't come down until you come get him - or I come get him, cause I won't be out _that_ late. So don't go in there, and you'll be fine." Harry paused, the only sounds in the room the ticking clock and the quiet whispers of Severus, that were too quiet to be understandable – Harry had quieted the sound wards enough to give him the recommended privacy, but were still loud enough to discern any words or problems if one was listening hard enough.

"Severus will scream at least once tonight, probably two, three, or four." Harry put his cloak on. "Normally, I go in and calm him down, but I don't want you doing that. He's scared when I do it – he'll be terrified with someone like a stranger to him."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry, he knows me. We'll be-"

"No!" Harry insisted. Severus was very unpredictable, and not prone to violence, but there was a first time for everything. Besides, _Snape_ had been on the violent side. "He's still got no muscle, all skin and bones, and no wand, but he's still strong enough and powerful enough to overpower you, Hermione. Promise me you'll only go in there if something suspicious is happening."

"What if he calls for you?"

Severus never called for Harry. He considered that bothering Harry, and God forbid Severus do that. "He won't. He knows I'm leaving. He's got plenty of things in his room to entertain, plenty of food and water. He's got Gik – he'll be okay. Promise me, Hermione."

"I promise. What if he has to use the toilet?"

Harry had thought of everything in his paranoia. He felt bad leaving Severus in a situation that seemed terrible, almost barbaric, but it was the only way he felt _safe_ leaving Hermione with him. He was not predictable enough, and too shaky, to leave with anyone but Harry, who knew him well. He didn't want Hermione to fall asleep on the sofa to wake up to oral sex by Severus.

And also in vice-versa. He did not want Hermione to say something to frighten Severus or make him take another two steps back. She never would intentionally, of course, but few did. And he still often took steps back, rather than forward.

"He's got a chamber pot, which, if necessary, he can empty out the window. Just stay out from under it. It's only just for the night – I'll be back before he even wakes up." He bit his lip in a very Severus fashion. "You don't think I'm being terrible do you?"

Hermione shook her head. "If he goes to bed at nine o'clock usually, anyway, I don't see how it is. You're okay, Harry."

"If any owls come with letters for him, just leave the letters on the table. Don't open them." Typically, the letters were just hate letters, but Harry read each one through just to be sure.

"He gets letters?" Hermione asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. It was highly publicised when I bought him – now people know where to send his death threats." They went directly to Harry, despite Severus' name being on them, because Harry owned Severus. Owls weren't stupid.

"Perhaps S.P.E.W. can-" Hermione followed Harry out to the verandah. "Gosh, it's so pretty out here – you're so lucky to live in the country."

More accurately, in the middle of nowhere. A small lot full of mostly trees, grass, and not much else. No neighbours, shops, or even a petrol station for miles. "Yeah. Oh, and in case something happens to me tonight-"

Hermione laughed. "Harry, you're a mother hen. I am very responsible – you know that. I'm a light sleeper, and will be up all night anyway, writing my essay." Hermione had begun at Wringlewart's University, the most prestigious Wizarding university in Europe, to study law, to eventually lend her expertise to the Ministry for Magic, specifically for slave rights.

:You go and have fun." She leaned forward and gave Harry a friendly kiss on the cheek. "Go have a couple of bad beers – you need it."

He nodded. "I owe you."

"No, you don't." She laughed. "Just keep Ron in check for me – he's still got a girlfriend, and too much Firewhiskey could make him forget that... but don't let that stop _you_ from getting one."

Harry didn't know whether she was talking about the Firewhiskey or the girlfriend.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was jam-packed, even for a Saturday night. It was nearly standing-room only – Harry had to squeeze past people, but they didn't seem to notice, because they were squeezing past people, too.

"Harry!" Ron shoved people aside to gain access to his best friend. "'Bout time you showed up – Hannah saved us seats at the bar, but her break is almost over, and once our seats are taken, man, they're gone."

Harry followed Ron to the bar. "Hannah?" He asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, Hannah Abbott. She's been working here as a waitress for- God, forever now." Ron squeezed onto a barstool.

"Oh, right." Harry felt like an idiot. He had been so preoccupied during the school year with finding Severus, and all summer he had been locked in his house with Teddy and Severus. He had no clue what any of his house mates were up to for the most part – no offence, but why would he know what a _Hufflepuff_ was up to if he didn't even know what Dean Thomas was up to?

"Hi, Harry!" Hannah said, brightly. "Firewhiskey?"

"Um, no – butterbeer, I think." Harry didn't want to get drunk and impair his judgement. He might have to rush home on account of an emergency, and wanted to be coherent when he did.

He took a sip of the frothy drink. Y_ou're an idiot. Hermione is the most responsible person on the planet! It's not like you're the most capable person on the planet, either. Severus will be fine – he won't hold a grudge that you've locked him up like a princess in a tower – even though the door isn't locked. He's just happy you're happy. And Teddy likes Hermione well enough. It's not like Lucius Malfoy will choose tonight of all nights to show up. It'll be fine._

"Just plain butterbeer? Not even spiked with something? Unusual." A blonde girl wearing a very short denim skirt hopped onto the bar – Harry could see her privates.

Harry awkwardly laughed, trying not to look down there. The girl probably didn't realise her skirt was _that_ short, but it probably was inappropriate for a bloke to say something. "Not now. I'm trying to get only slightly tipsy, not-"

She leaned down to get to his level – her shirt showed a lot of her beasts. "But what is the point if you don't get drunk?" Her heavily painted lips pouted.

"Hear-hear Angela!" Ron raised his glass of Firewhiskey.

"Harry, this is Angela." Hannah placed an empty tray on the bar. "Angela, Harry. Angela is a regular. I keep telling her to apply for a job here, but apparently she's already got one better."

No offence to Hannah, who Harry liked very much, but it wasn't hard, probably, to have a better job than waitressing at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry liked the place for nostalgic reasons, but wouldn't want to work in the dark, slightly smelly place.

"Well, a job is a job." He took a sip of butterbeer.

"Tell Hannah what you've been up to." Ron pressured, a grin on his face. It depressed Harry that Ron still considered what Snape was now a juicy piece of news, He knew Ron felt that no human should undergo such treatment, and thought Harry was doing the right thing, but he also knew that Ron didn't understand the gravity of the situation, and didn't feel much compassion for Severus.

It was Ron-like immaturity, Harry guessed.

"Let me guess." Hannah put some more Ogden's Old on a tray. "Not about you and Professor Snape, no? Old news. I'll think about it while I'm serving these up. Be right back." She Disapparated, tray in hand.

"I think it's a real admirable thing, that you bought Professor Snape." Angela pushed a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear.

"Really?" Harry asked. Not many people outside the Order and Spew seemed to agree. He hadn't been to the Burrow in awhile, but these days, he wondered what the Weasleys thought about it. "Did you know him?"

Did _you know him? Idiot. He's not dead. Professor Snape is just asleep, buried underneath lots of... scar tissue._

_No, you're an idiot if you ever think he'll come _back_. He's stuck in what he's become. Maybe someday he'll stop pissing the bed, maybe someday he'll stop apologising for every little thing. But if you think Professor Snape is ever coming back, you're mad._

"Yeah." She took a gulp of her cheap drink. "I left school in '94, but I remember him well. God, he was an awful teacher." She made a face. "But apparently things have changed him – I read the tabloids, and my ex-ex boyfriend saw him in Paris, New Years. Said he looked pathetic."

Harry could argue, but there was little point in arguing with it – Snape _was_ a god-awful teacher. "I don't know if he's ever been to Paris."

"I have." Angela supplied. "You should see it when it's snowing. It's beautiful."

_Beautiful Beautiful It's beautiful... _Harry shook his head, and took another sip of his butterbeer.

"I've been to Egypt." Ron supplied. "Saw some mummified Wizards who got buried in Levitating Stasis positions – it was awesome."

Angela ignored Ron. "Do you dance, Harry?"

Did Harry dance? It was hard to concentrate with all the loud noises and the busy pub. "Uh, no?"

Angela pouted, spreading her legs further apart. "Are you sure?" She leaned towards Harry to whisper in his ear. "I'm not wearing any panties."

_That, you are not,_ Harry thought, still trying not to stare underneath her skirt. "Um, I noticed."

"He dances." Ron said, loudly. "He dances very well. Go on, mate – show her your moves." He shoved Harry off of the barstool.

Harry followed Angela onto the dance floor, led by her hand.

The best thing about dancing, he learned, was that everything looked bigger under the multicoloured lights.

* * *

_The screaming was non-stop. Crying and screaming. It annoyed him, and bothered him._

_Drove him crazy._

_It was loud, causing his temples to throb. Throb in pain._

He sat up, in attempt to make the screaming stop. But the pain it caused was unspeakable – he saw a bright white light, and fell back down, a moan escaping him.

"Harry, you need to take this." Hermione's grating voice made his headache worse. He felt the cool edges of a vial against his lips. "You will feel so much better after-"

"Make the screaming stop." Harry's voice hurt his head. At the moment, he didn't care who was screaming or why – he just wanted it to stop.

"Teddy's all cranky, Harry. He has a stomach ache." Hermione said. "I gave him a Potion a bit ago, and it should help. Please," Hermione pleaded, "take this Potion, and we can talk."

He could see multicoloured lights from behind his eyelids. He could see bouncing breasts in front of-

He opened his eyes. The breasts perfectly aligned with his eyes were not bouncing – in fact, they seemed barely there, and were covered by a jumper.

"Harry, take a sip." Hermione said. "You will feel so much better, I promise."

Her voice had never been more grating. Not even when she had paraded around Hogwarts with her Spew supplies, trying to get everyone and their brother to join.

_Anything, just to shut you up. _He parted his lips just enough for the cool, slimy, thick Potion to pour in.

It was disgusting – it tasted like boiled frog stomachs, something Harry had eaten on a dare once, and had never forgotten. It wasn't mixed well, whatever it was, because he was choking on chunks.

"God, 'Mione." Harry gagged, feeling his eyes water as he sat up.

Hermione pushed him back down, with really good strength, compared to a lot of girls. "Lay down and swallow. Concoctions for hangovers are notoriously vile, even the ones Muggles use. It's the price you pay."

Harry found himself wishing Severus would pull out the string of spools and entertain Teddy like he usually did, to quiet Teddy. He wished Hermione would lower her voice. He wished he could roll over and go to sleep without swallowing what had to be the nastiest thing anyone had ever swallowed.

He swallowed.

"Drink up." Hermione held the vial up to Harry's lips again. "Take it – I'm going to take Teddy outside, to help him calm down. He loves it out there, you know. Don't you ever take him outside?"

She left him alone with the vial and an excruciating headache.

_She sounds cross. Just drink it, get up, and take over so she won't be angry. _He didn't know what time it was, but she had to be wanting to get home. Maybe that explained her mood. That, or it was because Harry never took Teddy outside. But that would require taking Severus out, too, and that would just create, well... a headache.

_Don't be stupid. She's mad that you got wasted. Not just drunk, but _wasted_. And you're supposed to be setting an example for Teddy?_

He made himself swallow every last chunky drop of the Potion, his headache slowly disappearing. He was cautious about sitting up though, worried that would start another headache.

It didn't.

He looked around the room, blinking frequently, spotting his glasses on an end table. He tried to remember exactly what had happened the previous night. He remembered dancing with a blonde that was not, for once, taller than he was. He remembered her breasts mainly – they had left too little to the imagination.

He remembered that she had asked him – or just assumed he would – to have sex with her. He couldn't remember if he had – most of the night was not in a fog, but just _gone_, as if they had been happy memories and he had just visited the dementors.

Had he had sex with her? How had he gotten so wasted? So drunk? Had he had more than just butterbeer? How much butterbeer had he had? How much butterbeer did it take to get a man drunk? Harry was skinny – he didn't think he could drink enough butterbeer to get drunk. He wasn't a house -elf.

He stood on shaky legs, and began taking baby steps towards the door. He felt that if he took any bigger steps, he'd fall or slip or something.

The house was in much better order than Harry had left it, he knew that. The carpet was actually visible, and there was not any dust on the shelf, or on the clock...

_Shit. It's two-thirty and Severus is still in his room. He probably thinks I'm mad at him. He's probably hungry. Shit. Shit. This really was a bad idea. Talk about abuse. You were supposed to be up and let him out hours ago. Shit._

The light outside was blinding. He had to squint, but the light reflecting off of his lenses did not make that effort worthwhile. He could feel his headache coming back.

_Maybe you should go get Severus. Go tell him you're sorry, get him to the loo, get him started on some food, then go talk to Hermione._

But talking to Hermione would take _minutes_, while getting Severus up and dressed, clean with food in his belly, would take half an hour at _least_, and that wasn't including the time he would have to spend making sure Severus really understood what had happened.

_It wouldn't matter to him. He doesn't think he's worth it to you. He wouldn't think anything of it._

_Yeah, _you_ know what he's worth to you. You wouldn't have left Hedwig locked up like that without no instruction. You would have treated her way better. And she was a owl._

_Hermione cares about slaves rights, though, _he reasoned._ And she was fine with your plan._

_Yeah, until you slept until two-thirty._

His eyes finally beginning to adjust to the light, he could see a small toddling figure race as fast as his thin legs could carry him across the grass. He was letting out a shrill scream of happiness, no longer screaming with stomach pains.

_Ouch, stop. _Harry tried smiling at Teddy's antics, but it hurt his head too much.

"Teddy, come back here!" Hermione called. She should have known that telling Teddy such a thing wouldn't work – he wasn't even a year and a half yet. Half of the things you said to him he didn't understand, and anything that he did understand he usually didn't listen to. He was too young to even know he was supposed to. So Harry supposed.

"I'll get him." A familiar voice offered.

Harry watched as a lithe figure sprinted over to teddy. The figure had not been invited over to Harry's home by him. In fact, the read-headed girl had been strictly uninvited.

"Ginny, put him down." Harry took a shaky step down off the verandah. His voice gave him extra pain, but he had to speak. "Put him down right now!"

Ginny had picked Teddy up, but sat him down immediately after Harry spoke. "Harry!" She called, putting her hair behind her ear. "You look like crap!"

Ginny may have turned into a hypocritical bitch, but she still told the truth. Harry didn't need to look in the mirror to know that he looked like crap.

"Harry!" Hermione picked up Teddy before jogging over to Harry. "I didn't invite them, I swear. They just Apparated over a few minutes ago." The cross Hermione Harry had been talking to only minutes ago was gone, the current Hermione with a confused and worried face.

_Them_. It was a _Them_. Because Ginny wasn't walking from the small open field of a garden to the verandah alone, but with a boy.

The boy was taller than the petite Ginny, and probably taller than Harry. He had blonde hair that was really short, probably only an inch long. He had a wide muscular build, probably all muscle, he appeared to be. If one exchanged the stupid grin on his face for a solemn frown, he would have resembled Viktor Krum.

And no wonder, because like Viktor Krum, this boy also went to Durmstrang. It was Nathan Weston.

Harry felt in his pocket for his wand. It was poking out of his trouser pocket, as per usual. He tightened his grip on it, preparing to wield it if need be.

"Harry-" Hermione touched his arm tenderly with her free hand.

"Go inside, Hermione." Harry said. "Take Teddy inside."

"But you don't want to do anything stupid." Hermione insisted. "Trust me, Harry – he's not worth it." She and Teddy went inside.

"Harry," Ginny said as they neared him. There was no way that they hadn't heard that whole conversation. "This is Nathan."

"Harry Potter." The kid, for that was exactly what he was, extended his hand. "I can't believe I'm actually meeting you."

"In the flesh." Harry said. He purposely did not look at Ginny while he spoke. "So, it's funny; you know my friend, Hermione. My ex-girlfriend, Ginny. My godson Teddy, and you know me. I bet you don't realise another acquaintance we have in common."

"Harry, don't." Ginny pleaded, her brown eyes begging him.

Nathan looked bewildered, a look that suited him well. "Um, no?"

Harry ignored the pleading brown eyes. "My slave, Severus Snape."

Nathan's blue eyes widened. "Oh, yeah. I heard you bought him. Listen, man, my dad had been under pressure to sell him fast – apparently someone he's affiliated with didn't approve of Death Eater slaves or something. He knew you wanted to buy him, but I guess under the pressure it slipped his mind. But, hey, you got him in the end, right? That's what counts."

Yeah, Harry had written a lot of letters to Weston, begging to buy Severus, but that was not the reason he hated Weston. He hated Weston for forcing Severus to go under all sorts of abuse. He hated Weston for selling Severus to König. Out of all the potential buyers in the world, _König_. Harry didn't give a hippogriff's hoof about affiliates opposing anything, or the circumstances Severus was sold under.

"Oh," Nathan continued, "um, you might want to be wary of anything he says. He always used to talk about me to people, about things I did or he did around me, that just never happened. I met him once, for about an hour." He chuckled, much like his father. "I guess he's got a good imagination."

"Harry!" Ginny shrieked. "Calm down! I can explain!"

Harry stared down at his right arm. It was extended in front of him, pointing his wand right at Nathan Weston.

_You can do it, Harry. Nothing Unforgivable, just a couple curses to put him in his place._

_He's probably not his father. You're not yours, after all._

_I'm like my dad in a lot of ways. A lot of good ways. The apple never falls far from the tree._

_But maybe he was the apple who _did_. Give him a chance._

It would be a cold day in hell when Harry allowed Severus to see any member of the Weston family again. And Severus was with Harry nearly all the time. He couldn't give Nathan Weston any chances.

_Then curse him. Give him a uni-brow for life._

He lowered his wand with a shaky arm. "Get out."

The young couple wasted no time in complying. Ginny kept giving Harry these 'looks', which he ignored. Because for the most part, he was too preoccupied with planning stronger privacy wards to pay attention to anything else.

**Coming up next in Unwell...  
..._Chapter Fifty-Four: An Examination  
_**

**_A/N: I find it long overdue to thank you all for your constructive and wise input, for the reviews and love you give _Unwell_. Thank you – you are very dear to me. I wish I was able to respond to __each and every one of your reviews, but for now, I will just give my thanks._**


	54. The Examination

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Five  
"An Examination"**

* * *

Severus watched in fascination as he walked bare foot on the pavement. His feet were clearly stepping in large puddles of water. Dripping rain did not land on his feet, but simply moved out of the way. What little light the sun gave from behind the clouds glistened on the wet pavement, and yet, Severus was not wet at all.

Master had cast a charm on him before they left, ensuring that Severus would not get wet at all by the rain. Severus had been most afraid by this, as nine times out of ten, whenever a wand was pointed at him, it did not bode well at all. Lately, every time he saw a tip of a wand, he was in fact so overcome with memories and thoughts that the wielder of the wand simply lowered it. But Master had promised him that the charm was just a normal charm, and would not hurt a bit, and he was right.

As owners always were.

The most amazing part of this was that he had cast the charm in the first place. What owner of Severus' in the past, had ever bothered to cast such a charm? They had always been content to cast a drying spell on him after the fact, should he begin to dampen their carpets or they want to use him. Never had they applied the charm, and if they had, Severus doubted that it would be just to keep him dry for his sake. They would have had an ulterior motive.

_And who is saying that Master does not? What makes you think that Master is not keeping you dry because he wants to use you later? Or because he does not want you to embarrass him with your dripping wetness? Because he does not want you to catch a cold, so he would have to spend money on Potions for his slave?_

The first notion was not quite ridiculous. It made perfect sense, and could, for all Severus knew, be the case. But it felt unlikely. If Master had intended to use Severus, he might have done it already. Why was he waiting so long? None of Severus' other masters had. There were plenty of reasons to own a slave, not just because of the fact that they had a perfectly willing penis, willing to act on your command.

And the second, well, that made even more sense. Anyone would notice a dripping wet person walking into a shop. It would embarrass Master for his slave to drip water all over a shop floor, especially when there was no reason for it. Severus was quite sure that was the reason his master had cast the charm. After all, the third reason was the most unlikely of all. A weak immune system caused a cold, not the cold itself. And what with the nutritive Potions Severus took regularly, his immune system was just fine. And if Master was so willing to spend so much money on the costly nutritive Potions, what was a simple Pepper-Up?

But whatever the reason, his body, his health, or the shame he brought, Master had done something that Severus was grateful for. And more than that, he had given Severus another chance, to go out in public with him. After the incident at the bookshop, Severus was wondering if Master would ever take him out, not including the Weasley home, again. Especially after that long time Severus spent alone in his room with Gik, whilst Master went out.

_This time, you will please your master. You will not shame him. _He was determined.

He darted ahead, with excellent timing, to open the heavy wooden door for Master. He did so that he never got ahead of Master, but only got side-by-side with him, which was acceptable when doing things such as opening doors. His stomach filled with warm butterflies as Master gave him a smile and told him 'thank you', in a tone Severus knew that meant Master was very pleased.

They were in a waiting room. There were chairs and low tables filling the room. A small group of children played with brown building blocks in one corner. Aside from the door they came out of, there was only one other potential exit, that went into a long hallway, blocked off by a simple shutter.

Every seat but one was filled. Filled with men, women, and children. Men blowing sticky green mucous into disposable handkerchiefs, woman shifting awkwardly in their seats, as if they were trying to relieve a discomfort, and children wailing.

Master apparently did not notice how disconcerting this was. He simply strode over, smiling at the children as he stepped over them, and took the empty seat.

Severus followed, so that he could kneel at his master's feet. Then, everyone in the room would see what a good slave Severus' master had, and Master would be pleased.

"Jeremy!" A woman hissed at the young boy sitting next to master. She slapped his arm, through Severus could tell it did not hurt, as Severus had been slapped a lot harder. "Move so that this man can sit down!" She smiled apologetically at Severus. "I am sorry. Teenagers, you know."

Severus did not know what to say. He did know teenagers could be somewhat rebellious, but what did that have to do with him, and why was the woman making her son get out of his chair? Severus could not sit in the chair. A slave could never sit in a chair, or use furniture, as if he were human. He was to be quite content on the floor.

"Severus," Master said in a low whispered voice. "Sit down next to me. In the chair."

In the chair? But the boy – young Master Jeremy – was above Severus! Severus could not sit in a chair especially when there were those above him sitting on the floor! And there were a lot of them, of all sizes and races, sitting on the floor, from young Master Jeremy, to the toddlers playing with the blocks. Sitting down in a chair whilst they were on the floor was wrong. It was impolite. It was unethical. It went against everything Severus _was_.

Yet, Master instructed, so Severus sat, his body shaking so that he could barely.

The seat was foreign. Uncomfortable. Hard. It hurt him to sit in. He could feel his spine up against the back of the chair, his tail bone pushed against the seat. It hurt, but what Master wanted, Master got. No complaints from Severus.

Tears ran from his face, and he ducked his head low so that he could try to get them under control before others saw him. He knew it was embarrassing for his master for his slave to show any emotion, but Severus himself did not know why he was crying. Yes, he was disappointed and a bit scared that he was doing something so improper when he had vowed to be so _good_, but he was obeying his master. And the chair was vastly uncomfortable, but he would survive. None of those things were reasons to cry, and yet, the tears came.

Master passed Severus a handkerchief. "It's okay," he said in a low whispered voice that Severus was sure others in the room could hear – how sad that a master felt the need to _comfort_ his slave. "You are doing so well today – I am very proud."

Master was proud. That was good. But if he thought Severus was doing _well,_ Severus had apparently given him a very poor sampling.

"And you know what? These people are- they don't know the difference between you and me. It's okay."

The difference between Master and Severus? Why, it was so obvious. Severus was nothing, Master was everything. Severus was weak, while Master was strong. If you looked closely, you could see the now white, very faded, nearly invisible design across Severus' forehead, making him a slave. You did not have to look closely at all to see the terrific scar on Master's forehead, making him a king. Severus was wearing simple black trousers and a high collared shirt to hide his collar, that bound him to his master secondary to spells. Master was dressed in Muggle trousers and shirts, free to display whatever he liked, as he was in charge of himself.

They were complete opposites – how could anyone not see that?

"Alan." An overweight woman, dressed in a brought floral shirt, stepped from behind the shuttered doors, reading a name off a clipboard. "Alan O'Hara?"

A man, one with a terrible hacking cough, stepped up and followed the woman behind the shuttered door.

Why did the man not simply take a Potion for it? There were many Potions that could aid him. Unless...

_Unless he does not know of any. Unless he does not know Potions exist. These people... many people in here are ill and are not taking Potions. No one is dressed in robes, or wearing pointed hats. No one is wielding wands or entertaining their children with sparks and pictures – the children are playing with blocks. No one is surrounding Master, asking him questions or thanking him... and they do not know the differences between Master and I, differences that would be so very obvious to any magical person that it is shameful to even compare the two of us..._

_They are Muggles._

Severus did not know whether to feel relieved or ashamed. He could feel relieved because, while Muggles were in fact above him, there was also a rule applying of 'what they do not know cannot hurt hem'. They did not know Severus was a slave, and Severus was to keep it that way unless instructed otherwise. If that meant he was supposed to take an offered seat, so be it.

But he also felt ashamed because, well, it was so obvious! He should have realised it long ago! They were all in Muggle dress, and Master had insisted on Severus wearing full Muggle dress today, save the shoes, because obviously Master felt as all of Severus' past owners, that slaves did not deserve shoes. There had been cars outside, but Severus had been too caught up in pleasing his master to notice.

What an idiot he was.

"No shoes, man?" A young man looked down at Severus. "What'd ya do, lose them or something?"

No, Severus did not lose them. He did not have them. He was not permitted to wear them. It was nothing to be ashamed of – many slaves were not permitted to wear shoes. It was a rite of passage, so to speak. But he did not know how to explain that to a young Muggle boy, how he did not want shoes, that being given shoes might make him feel like a house-elf when given clothing.

Master reached out and lightly covered Severus' knee with one of his hands, causing Severus to jump. "It's a long story. Think about it, wonder what it could be, and write a book on it. Bet it'll become a best-seller."

"Severus?" The lady was back, in all her floral glory. "Severus Snape?"

Master stood, and Severus did immediately after. As Severus followed Master, picking his way around the children, he could hear a few woman whispering about 'masochistic', 'homosexual', 'punishment', 'BDSM', and 'slave and master', all while giving Master and Severus furtive glances, making Severus wonder what those Muggle women knew.

* * *

The room the lady led Master and Severus in was simple. The walls were white, the tiled floor was white. There were two simple chairs, a counter, and a bed that looked quite peculiar, covered in paper instead of sheets. Severus had never been in a room like that.

He sank to the floor on shaky legs when he spotted the torture tools on the counter, and on the wall. Master had not made it clear where they were going, but Severus had assumed – just assumed – that it would be all right. Master had not seemed like one that would use torture. Or take his slave to be tortured.

"It's okay." Master whispered as he sat in one of the chairs. He reached out and ran his fingers through Severus' hair. "You're doing fine."

Severus flinched, but resumed the position of perfect submission once the lady looked up at them. Severus would not shame him in front of the Muggle woman.

"Severus?" The lady was not speaking to Severus, but to Master.

"Um, no. I'm Harry. Harry Potter. This is Severus." Master motioned towards Severus. "It's his appointment, today."

"I see." The lady said. "And you are?"

"A friend." Master said. "Um, we're supposed to be seeing Dr. Smith?"

"Dr. Smith will do the actual examination. I am the nurse practitioner, here to get his stats." The lady responded.

_Doctor. Nurse. You are at the doctor. A Muggle doctor. Those are not torture devices, but tools Muggles use to diagnose illnesses. _Severus let out a breath he had not realised he was holding.

Master shifted in his seat. "Yeah, well, I don't know if that's such a good idea. See, Severus is really... uncomfortable with a lot of people. I think it'd be better to wait for Dr. Smith to do the whole thing."

"It will only take a few moments." The nurse promised. "Now, Severus, if you could go get a urine sample, and meet me in the hallway-"

A urine sample? She wanted a sample of Severus' urine? Why? That seemed rather barbaric. And bizarre. How did she want a sample of it?

Severus looked up at his master, searching for approval in his eyes.

"We're on it." Master stood up. "Come on, Severus – follow me."

Severus followed Master out of the exam room into the hallway. He could hear a baby sobbing. Not the type of cry a baby had when they had a dirty nappy or were overtired, but a clear cry of absolute pain.

He did not want to be anywhere where they hurt an innocent, free baby. If they hurt something so fragile, so innocent, without consequence, then what would they do to Severus?

He followed Master into the bathroom. It was much like the bathroom at home, save the lack of tub.

Master handed Severus a paper cup. "Okay, go in this. Just a little, not a lot."

Why? What are they going to do with it? It bothered Severus that the Muggles were going to have a sample. The things doctors could do with it bothered him.

But he asked no questions as he took down his trousers and began to comply.

"It's okay, really. This doctor is really good – I looked really hard for the best doctor in London, that was both a Muggle and aware of our world. I figured you would prefer to go to her, rather than a Healer. The wands and stuff, I figured would freak you out."

Master was right, Severus would not like to be examined by a Healer. How thoughtful of Master, how kind of him to go out of his way. Severus did not deserve such a kind Master.

Severus hesitated, not knowing what to do with the urine cup.

Master simply took it from him and put it in a tiny window. "All right, done? Okay, before we go out there, just remember that the nurse doesn't know we're wizards. Don't call me 'Master' out there."

Severus' stomach twisted. His heart fell into it. What was he supposed to call his master, then? He was so fortunate to have such a wonderful master, he was proud to be able to call his master such. He never would have expected to feel saddened by losing the privilege of using that title.

"Then what am I to call you, sir, if I may ask?" Severus asked, his eyes on his bare toes.

"Don't call me anything. Or, you know, 'sir' if you absolutely need to. But I'm going to be right beside you the whole time. I won't let anyone hurt you, or touch you in any way that is harmful." Master paused. "Do you trust me?"

Did Severus trust his master? Trust him with what, and what choice did Severus have? "Yes, Master."

"Okay." Master turned to open the door, but stopped, turned around and beamed. "You're doing really well, Severus – keep it up. I'm so proud." Then he opened the door.

Severus followed Master back down the hall, passing a morbidly obese woman. His bare feet felt so wonderful on the cool tiled floor, a far cry from how they could sometimes feel on the carpet.

They entered a very small room, closet sized, where the woman in the floral shirt was waiting.

"All done?" She asked.

"Yeah." Master answered.

"Okay, then. Severus, if you could step on the scale for me, and we'll get your weight." She motioned to a contraption.

Severus looked at Master for verification.

"Oh, um, step here." Master pointed.

Severus stood on the rickety feeling contraption. He could feel it shift, hear gears move, underneath his weight. He trusted Master, therefore he trusted the contraption.

But he did not like it.

The woman began to mess with the contraption. "All right, you weigh..." she paused. "Ten stone, two pounds." She wrote something down on her chart. "Have you been dieting, Severus?"

"Um, no. See, this is why I wanted Dr. Smith to do the whole examination." Master said. "Severus has been in a really complicated-"

"Forgive me, Mr. Potter, but I do not really know why you're here. I was asking Severus."

Severus hated being in the same room with confrontation. It always ended up being him who got hit. "No, miss." He answered, quietly.

"Well, sit down here. Let's get your blood pressure." She had him sit down in a chair, and began to wrap something around his upper arm.

It took everything he had not to jerk away at her touch.

"Um, does it make lots of noise?" Master asked.

"It will make a loud humming sound, yes, but it's no cause for alarm." The lady sounded a bit annoyed.

"And it squeezes your arm really tightly, yeah? Severus, the thing she's wrapped around your arm is going to make noise, and squeeze really tightly, but I promise it's okay. It won't hurt or anything. Just stay as still as you can and breathe, okay?"

Severus, of course, complied, but it was hard. Very hard.

* * *

"This gown will make it easier for the doctor to examine you, than normal clothes will." Master tied, very loosely, the tie to the otherwise open hospital gown Severus put on.

Severus did not understand why he could not simply have clothes off the entire time – surely it would make things even simpler – but did not say anything. Master was a master who did not like to insult what was his, so likely did not mention the reason; the fact that the doctor would not want to look at his naked body any more than necessary.

"After you bow to her, when she comes in, sit on this exam table." Master motioned to the table covered in paper. "That's where she will examine you at." Master sat back down in one of the chairs – Severus continued to stand, hands locked behind his back, head bowed deeply.

"Um, I haven't been to a Muggle doctor's appointment in years, but Dr. Smith told me what to expect. She's going to look down your throat, to make sure that's okay, and look in your eyes, ears, and nose. She'll want to listen to your heartbeat, and, um... well, see, I've never had this happen because I was ten last time I was at the doctor's, but, um..."

"See, she'll mess around with your balls in stuff. Nothing bad! Nothing bad, I promise. See, doctors see a hundred people a day – there's nothing they haven't seen, don't worry."

_Don't worry. Nothing they haven't seen. _There was a first time for everything.

"It'll be okay, I swear. She just wants to make sure you aren't hurt too bad or anything, after what happened to you. Every guy who goes to the doctor gets examined there – I promise it'll be okay."

If Master said it would be okay, then it would be. It would not be fine, excellent, brilliant, but okay. That was better than, perhaps 'terrible' or horrid'.

_It is a woman, _Severus forced himself to relax. _She will have little interest in you. The women rarely do. _Were it a man examining him, it would be a different story – men nearly _always _ liked to not only touch Severus, but touch him inappropriately. Or what could be considered inappropriate. In reality, they had only been using what was theirs.

There was a quick rap on the door before a woman stepped in and introduced herself as 'Dr. Smith'.

Severus knelt on the floor, well aware that the gown fell away from his body, displaying him fully. _If Master says it will be okay, it will be okay._

"You can stand up now, Severus." Master instructed.

Severus stood up, and lifted himself onto what his master had called an exam table. It was not overly comfortable – like the chair had been, it made his bones hurt.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you for awhile now, Severus." Mistress Smith said. "Harry had told me a lot about you – we have been trying to arrange your appointment for quite some time, but my schedule is very full, as you can see from my waiting room." She handed Master a clipboard, with papers on it to fill out. "Now, Harry, if you could fill out these forms, like we discussed. We did not want him to have to do it in the waiting room, Severus – we wanted to get you in and out of there was soon as possible."

Severus mutely nodded, wondering why Mistress Smith was feeling the need to relay it all to him. Master was taking him to the doctor because he was concerned over the health of his property. It was not Severus' concern how he was, but Master's. Perhaps, being a Muggle, Mistress Brown was not aware of this.

She pulled out one of her 'torture tools', and attached something to it. "All right, Severus, if you want to look to your far left, so that I can see inside your ear..."

Severus looked towards her counter, and closed his eyes tightly as she began to touch him, sticking her torture tool in his ear. It did not hurt, but it was very uncomfortable.

"Very good. Now the other one. Hold still, I'm not going to hurt you. Look to the right, Severus."

Severus looked over to the door and shut his eyes tightly again. He would not flinch away as she placed one hand on his shoulder and used the other to stick a foreign object in his ear. He would continue to please his master. He would show the Muggle what a good slave he was trying to be.

"Okay. Done."

Severus opened his eyes. She was done? Done with the whole examination? Why, that had not taken long at all. She had not looked into his eyes, or his nose, or touched him like Master said she would.

It was when she began to change the attachments on her torture tool that he realised she simply meant with the ears.

"Now, this light is going to be in your eyes, but it won't hurt." Mistress Smith warned. "If you want to look to the left – without moving your head, Severus – good."

_Can she see my thoughts? Do Muggles have their own form of Legilimency? Does this tool enable her to know what I am thinking? Does Master want her to know? Should I be letting her look so closely at my eyes?_ Severus shut his eyes, tightly, not allowing her to look at them any longer.

"Severus." Master's voice took over a warning tone. "Please let her look."

"It's fine. I'm done." She said. "It seems that blood vessels in your eyes have burst at some point. Do you know how that happened?"

"I do not, Mis-Mistress." Now that she was done with his eyes, he made sure to keep them cast down. "Please forgive me, M-Master. I-I did not mean to-"

"It's okay." Master interrupted. "Is that going to hurt him any? Is his eyes okay?"

"His eyesight is not what it could be – he may need reading glasses, from what his vision test indicated – but there should be no long-term detrimental effects." She looked in his nose with the tool. "Could you open your mouth for me?"

Master said that she would want to look into his mouth, and seemed fine with it, so Severus complied. He opened his mouth as wide as he could.

She shone the small light down his throat. "Oh." She said, quietly, turning off the light and beginning to right furiously on her paper.

Severus kept his mouth open, as he had not been told to shut it. What was she writing down? What did she see in his mouth that he had not seen, that Master had not seen?

"What happened to his teeth?" Master asked. "He was only gone ten months. I don't think he took very good care of his teeth to begin with, but that's really sudden, for all of them to fall out."

"Some of the teeth that are left are severely chipped or broken." She said. "We can discuss it in a few minutes, but you can imagine that they did not just go and _fall_ out." She continued writing. "I would recommend dentures, unless your people have an alternative."

Would Master spend the money on dentures for his slave? Were they really necessary? Severus did not know, but kept quiet and listened, hoping to gain all the information he could from the conversation, hoping that what he was doing was not considered eavesdropping.

"Severus." Master said, suddenly. "You can shut your mouth now."

Severus shut his mouth.

She pulled out a flat stick, a tongue depressor, he knew. "Actually, if you could open it again for a few moments... do you do a lot of shouting, Severus?"

Master coughed. "Um, Dr. Smith? Can we talk about it in a bit?"

"Of course." She noted something in her notes. "Now you can shut your mouth. Now, if you want to lay back..."

Severus took a deep breath and laid back on the exam table. He stared up at the solid white ceiling. A fabric butterfly, brightly coloured green, yellow, and purple, dangled over his head in decoration. It was not levitating though – Muggles did not use levitation. They had fishing wire.

She pulled the gown off his shoulders, down off his arms. The chill in the room suddenly hit him, and he struggled not to shiver.

"The room next door has an owl." Dr. Smith said in reference to the butterfly, as she used one of her torture tools – a very cold one – to listen to the sounds his chest made. "Do you like owls, Severus? Deep breath."

Severus breathed shallowly. He struggled to breathe normally, or to take a deep breath, but the shallow breaths seemed to be all he could manage at the moment. It made him a bit dizzy.

"N-N-No, Mistress." He said, thinking of the owl that had nearly pecked his eyes out at the Monster's. At least, he thought it was an owl. He had forgotten about it until he had had a nightmare about it last night... unless it had never happened. Maybe it had been just that. A nightmare.

"Oh, really?" She brought the tool down towards his stomach. "I was under the impression that everyone in your world liked owls."

Severus did not know what to say to that. He knew that there was safe one response, and he also knew that she was getting dangerously close to his groin with that torture tool.

"I-I-I am s-sorry, Mis-Mistress." His few teeth began to chatter. "Please forgive m-me. I-I-I-I-I-" he stopped, trying to regain control. "I-I-I-I will a-a-a-a-ask m-m-m-m-m-"

"Hey." Master's face appeared over his, his eyes worried behind his glasses. "Hey, Severus, it's okay. Take a deep breath. See? Doesn't that help?"

Severus brought his eyes down, so not to look his master in the eyes. Consequently, he could see Mistress Smith running her finger on the long scar on his abdomen. It tickled in a terrible way.

"Look at me." Master ordered, softly. "It's okay. I promised you it would be, didn't I? Hey... Hey... deep breaths. Good job. Deep breaths. You're okay. It's okay. I promise."

Master only stopped uttering comfort words when Mistress Smith brought the gown back up over his shoulders, and helped him back into it, all without letting the gown leave his lap.

"All right." She said. "We're halfway done. If you will allow me to lift the bottom half of the gown, and examine your testicles."

"Hold on." Master interrupted. He hopped up onto the exam table and laid Severus' head on his lap. "Okay."

But she did not do it. She stood, silent, looking at Severus.

_Why are you looking at me? Master said 'okay'. If you are going to do it, please do it and get it over with! _Severus was not shy about displaying his body – he had spent so much time nude in the past year that it would be ridiculous for him not to feel just as comfortable unclothed than clothed. He had not worn shorts for as long as he could remember with the Occlumency shields are high as they were. He had not worn socks or shoes for the same length of time.

What he was uncomfortable with was being touched down there. He knew what to expect when Master touched him down there in the evening in the bath, but here, not a clue.

"Severus?" She prodded.

_She asked you if she could. She is waiting for _you_ to answer. You could say 'no, I am not comfortable with that'. Except that Master said she could. Except for the fact that she is above you, and evidentially wants to, so you must comply. _"Yes, Mistress."

"Look at me." Master instructed, softly. "That is a brightly coloured butterfly on the roof, isn't it? I bet Teddy would like one like that for his room. Maybe we can find him one at a shop. Would you like one?"

Not particularly. Severus just wanted to take Gik in his arms and go into the closet, in his room at home, never to come out. He did not want to be here.

"When we get home, you can study your books, and take a nap." Master said. "On the way to pick up Teddy from the Weasley's though, maybe we can stop and get ice cream. You deserve a treat for doing as well as you are."

Severus could feel the woman grasping his penis – her initial touch caused him to cry out before he could stop it.

"Ssh." Master wiped away tears that Severus apparently had on his cheeks. "She just wants to make sure you're okay down there. There's lots of scar tissue. But let's not think about that – let's think about something nice. Maybe this afternoon, we can all go outside and play in the grass. Would you like that? The weather is so nice outside."

"Severus?" Mistress Smith interrupted, her hand holding his testicles firmly. "Could you please turn your face away from your master and cough?"

What an absurd request. But Severus did turn his head to the right and cough, hoping he was doing what she asked.

"Good. Thank you, Severus." She said, continuing to do whatever she was doing.

Master brought his hand up, brushing Severus' hair out of his eyes. Doing that, be brushed Severus' forehead.

Fireworks went off in Severus as he bunted his head Master's hand. A warmness filled his lower regions. A moan escaped his throat, and then, the sensation was gone.

"All righty then." Mistress Smith said. "I'm going to go check on the results of your urine tests. I will be back for the prostate exam, and then to talk to your master. I'll be right back." Quite quickly, she left the room.

Severus sat up, as Master's prodding.

"Sorry, Severus." Master said. Severus was observant enough to see a single tear trickling out of Master's eye. "Sorry I touched your forehead like that. I didn't mean to, you know, manipulate you like that. It just... happened. Um, you've got a, um-" He stopped short.

Severus looked down to where Master was looking, his lap. It was covered with the gown, but an erection was very obvious through the thin fabric.

Severus felt compelled to explain. "I apologise, Master. I-It happens to me when I am touched there and the forehead, simultaneously. It is not your fault, sir. I-It is mine."

"It's not yours. You can't help it. I should have thought about your head." Master said. "I make an effort to never touch it, but I just..."

Severus did not understand the big deal Master was making. Yes, Master had touched Severus' head, a feeling Severus missed and welcomed. Yes, Severus had an erection that he was not sure how he was supposed to fix. But it was not worth the tear Master had, to Severus.

_How have you upset Master? Shame on you._

"Um, is that going to be able to go away?" Master referred to the erection. "Or is it, you know, a big enough deal to need... you know."

Severus pulled back the fabric and looked down. The warm throbbing demanded that someone take care of it, but Severus knew it was wrong for a slave to ever touch themselves there without demand or permission from their owners.

And Severus did not want Master to take care of it for him. Merlin, no.

But the truth had to be told. "I-I-I will need to take care of it, s-s-sir." He stammered. "Un-unless y-y-y-you want to..."

A squeak escaped Master. "Um, no. It's okay. I think you have it, um, well in hand. No pun intended. Um, I guess I'll just turn my back... actually, no. I've got to use the loo. I could be a little while. Um, just, you know. The paper towels are there, you know, and the sink is there... clean up when you're done. I'll be back." Master started for the door and stopped, turning to look at Severus. "Unless... you can take care of it, can't you?"

Severus had not touched himself there for any sort of pleasure since Master Weston asked him to, for him and his friends to watch. But he knew how – slave or not, he was sure every man old enough to feel pleasure there did.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, I'll be back. Have fun. Shit, I mean... shit." Master turned red. "I'll be back." He hurried out the door, leaving Severus to his own devices.

Master had quickly turned out to be the most confusing, yet most interesting Master Severus had ever had.

* * *

"So, when you get an erection, does it hurt?" Master asked Severus as they stepped out of the building. Though they were in a quiet suburban area, not a busy London street, Master took Severus' hand, as was habit for them, so Master would not 'lose' Severus. "Mistr- Shit, thanks a lot. Dr. Smith said that it might because of the scar tissue, in our talk."

After the prostate exam, Master had sent Severus into a room three doors down. It was an empty exam room, identical to the one they had been in, but with a red and purple caterpillar instead of a butterfly. He had waited there for twenty-three minutes, fourteen seconds, according to the clock on the wall, whilst Master and Mistress Smith discussed the examination results.

It did not _hurt_, per se. When Severus got one, the skin could feel strained, almost uncomfortable, but it never hurt, and now that he had been permitted to 'get rid of it' just this once, he found that the uncomfortable feeling was hardly noticeable compared to other sensations. "No, sir. It can get merely uncomfortable, but it is not painful by any means."

"Good." Master said. "I mean, that it's not painful. She was really concerned about your weight, and your iron levels, but she knows we're working on it. By the way, you did super good in there. I mean, really super. I'm really proud of you. And I meant it about the ice cream – do you like ice cream?"

Severus could not recall. "I do not know, sir."

"Oh... well, want to try?" They turned a corner.

"Faggots!" A boy on a skateboard yelled as he went by.

"Idiot." Master muttered, gripping Severus' hand even tighter. "Don't worry about him, Sev. We're going to get ice cream, Apparate to the Burrow, Apparate home, and have a great rest of the day. Really, Severus, I haven't been this happy in awhile. I'm just so _proud_ of you."

Severus could feel his face burn. "Yes, sir."

"She also wanted to exam up your bum more than she did – she's worried about damage to your spleen or colon or rectum, or something, she said. But I think we'll get you examined there by a Healer – I think you'd rather be confronted with a wand than have a camera shoved up your ass, right?"

Severus was not sure how a Muggle camera could fit up there, but Master Weston had shoved quite a few things up there Severus would have never previously guessed would fit. The People at the Monster's had put so many unidentified objects up there that made Severus scream in pain, that Severus had felt and heard tear things, that now, he supposed, just about anything could fit up his.

Master was always right, however. "Yes, Master."

"I'm so proud of you, Severus."

"Yes, Master."

**Coming soon in **_**Unwell**_**...  
Chapter Fifty-Five:**


	55. McGonagall Makes a Suggestion

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Five  
"McGonagall Makes a Suggestion"**

* * *

"How do you say 'I should have paid attentions in Potions' in French?" Harry had popped his last two tablets of Muggle headache medication, but being a wizard, they did him little good. "My head hurts like a bitch."

It was probably due to the lack of sleep. He took Dreamless Sleep faithfully, but lately he was starting to wake up at odd hours of the night, unable to go to sleep. Still dreamless, but no sleep. It had become Sleepless Sleep.

Severus dutifully replied with the proper translation, as he sat on the floor, poring over his French book, as he did daily. Harry had not seen Severus touch the German book as of yet – Severus kept it on the bookshelf, in fact, not taking it to his room like he did the French one. The French one was og eared, the best Galleons Harry had ever spent on a book.

Teddy had gone up for his nap, but Harry was letting Severus skip his nap, to see what happened. After all, Dumbledore had seemed to let a lot of more important things slide that shouldn't have, to see what would happen. He wanted to see how Severus got along without his nap. If he didn't need one every day, Harry wasn't going to force him to take one.

"Master, would you care for some tea?" Severus offered.

_No. I'd care for a hitman though. And a Potion to stop this headache. If I could only leave you home alone with Teddy while I Apparate to a shop..._ "Actually, do you know how to make hot chocolate?" Remus had sworn on chocolate.

Severus hesitated. "I believe so, sir."

"Hot chocolate would be great, if you don't mind." He considered telling Severus to make himself a mug, but had too much pain and too little patience to convince Severus that it was better for him not to drink out of a bowl. "You can have some too, if you like."

"Yes, sir." Severus stood to his mangled feet and left for the kitchen. He swore they hurt when asked, but the Healer that they had visited said that it was all psychological, that they were simply scarred, that they could give him a placebo. Harry had declined.

The Healer had found numerous injuries that Harry hadn't even know were _there_. Tears and punctures, in places they shouldn't be. The Healer tried to heal them all, but not all were healable. The injuries that were not life threatening, that were deliberately inflicted upon Severus by another owner were not about to be healed... even though that owner no longer owned him. The dangerous ones were healed, however - the minor fissures, tears, and scars would hopefully heal on their own in time, and until then, Severus could be given Potions for pain, and also continue taking the nutritive Potions, which helped block any sort of virus or infection.

It wasn't the perfect solution, but until Severus was braver around magic, and around people, it would have to do. When he felt better, maybe – just maybe – Harry could see about going to Müller and the Westons to heal him. He didn't want Severus anywhere near Koing, though, not even to be healed.

There was a knock on the door. Harry leapt to his feet to answer it. "Ill get it, Sev!" He never allowed Severus to get the door. He needed no surprises.

It was Professor McGonagall. Dressed in maroon tartan, she screamed 'Gryffindor', though she was no longer the Head of it.

"Hello, Potter." she said, coming in at Harry's prodding. "I tried Flooing, but it seems it's warded against my Floo."

"Actually, it's warded against your magical signature." Harry explained. "Don't take it personally – Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley are the only ones who can get through at all times. I don't need any surprises right now."

"It takes a very powerful wizard to ward against magical signatures." Professor McGonagall said, gravely.

Harry ignored both the compliment and the warning undertones in her voice. "Yeah, well, sit down. Severus is in the kitchen making hot chocolate – would you like some?"

Her lips came together in a scowl. "Potter, I thought you were not going to order him about."

"It's the only job he had right now. In his mind, it's his only reason for existing. I'm letting him feel useful." Why did it feel like no one understood his life and choices but him?

"How is he?" She asked, sitting down. "Has he recovered at all?"

"Oh, he's pretty good. And yeah, some. He's had a lot of, um, health issues, but he just saw a Healer and a doctor, and now he's pretty great." He was quickly becoming a Severus encyclopedia. "The major issues he had – one in his stomach was a time bomb, apparently. It's surprising it didn't hurt him – could be fixed. He's always going to have the scars on his body, because ones he didn't cause, because the ones I didn't cause, I can't fix. But he doesn't seem to care. He's really... apathetic about most things."

"Apathetic?"

"Yes." Harry felt defensive, though he didn't know why. "I know that word. I went to a good school. Thanks, Severus – do you remember Professor McGonagall?" The hot chocolate was too hot to sip.

The glazed look was clear in Severus' eyes. "Yes, Master." He finally responded, hoarsely. He bowed to the floor. "Mistress McGonagall, may I get you something?"

"Potter!" McGonagall scolded in a shrill voice that startled Harry nearly as badly as Severus. "You told me that he has-"

"-And he has. Lots." Harry interrupted, quickly. He motioned to the very small bowl of hot chocolate Severus had brought in for himself. "It's okay – help yourself."

He turned to McGonagall. "I can't just Obliviate him. There are no quick fixes. There are some things hindering his recovery that his therapist and I were scared to touch. Severus knows that he's safe and loved here, now he's healthy, and we've got time to work on everything else. There's no rush or anything."

McGonagall still looked unhappy. "There are wizards who have been completely Obliviated of trauma."

"Yeah, well, that would be mean. That would mean he'd lose a year of his life. And he's _still_ be a slave." Harry reckoned the pain of relearning that and everything that went with it would be worse than the recovery he was going through. "And there is something keeping us from something like that, anyway."

"Which is?" McGonagall asked, her opinion clearly set.

"That's between me and Severus." The Occlumency issue seemed too personal to share. "Um, would you happen to have a vial of headache draught? I've got a terrible one."

Wordlessly, McGonagall dug in her bag and produced a vial, which she gave to Harry. "He is still eating like an animal." She observed Severus. "Why?"

Harry downed the vial. "_Drinking_. He _eats_ like a human, I'll have you know. And he's in the room – ask him yourself." She was one to talk about not treating him like a slave.

Severus lifted his head from the bowl, a bit of chocolate on his face. He looked at Harry for a moment, before lifting the bowl to his lips. He looked at Harry again, as if for approval.

Harry could feel a smile spreading across his face. He nodded his approval at Severus.

Severus began to sip at the bowl.

Harry wanted to get up and dance. Whoop for joy. Dash off letters to his friends, and everyone he knew. Hug Severus and tell him how happy he was with him.

But he felt like that would be admitting something he didn't want to to McGonagall, so he just sat there, grinning like an idiot.

McGonagall leaned down to look at Severus better. "How are you faring, Severus?"

Severus sat the bowl down, keeping his eyes lowered. "I am fairing well, Mistress."

"Severus, please call me 'Minerva', not 'Mistress'."

Severus did not look art Harry for approval, as Harry expected. "I apologise Mistress, but I cannot."

McGonagall's lips were as tight as they had been the time in fifth-year, after Harry fought with Umbridge. "Yes, you can. Harry will not mind."

She finally had a point there – he wouldn't.

"My master is not a factor, miss." Severus was stubborn. "This slave has been well-trained."

"However-" McGonagall reasoned.

"-Drop it." Harry interrupted. "Severus does not want to call you that. It's the end of discussion."

McGonagall sighed. "Potter, you say he's improved, but it's hardly noticeable. Have you considered that what you're doing, as good as your intentions are, is not enough?"

Of course he had considered that. Every waking moment, he wondered and worried. He would give up so much to give Severus what he used to have back. He would do anything. He worried about finding Severus another therapist, one who could help. He worried that he was being unfair – what was the point of turning Severus back into Snape? He would still always be a slave. Forever. Her felt guilty because he didn't know if he _wanted_ Severus to turn back into Snape. He had come to care for him, and whilst he would not miss the panic attacks and utter dependency, there would be aspects Harry would miss. He doubted Snape would derive comfort from Harry raking fingers through his hair, or not bother hiding the raw emotions in his eyes. Severus, as helpless and quiet as he was, was good company, company Harry enjoyed, Company he was sure to lose if Snape came back.

"I'm not sure what you're looking for." He glanced at Severus, who stared at his knees, clear eyes indicating that he was not using Occlumency to not listen, but was listening. "If you're looking to hire him for the 1999-2000 school year, he's in no shape to do that. He may never be. This could be as good as it's gonna get. I hope not, but it could be for his best interest. You want him to turn back into his old self, but I don't know if he wants that. And if he doesn't want that, I don't want that. I just want him to be happy. If he becomes exactly like his old self, the pain his slavery will cause might be too much for him to bear."

_For him and me. If I have to watch him fight that, I might be the one to break._

McGonagall nodded. "So you do not think admitting him to a psychiatric hospital will help?"

The gears in Harry's head began to turn. Psychiatric hospital? Like, a hospital for crazies? Severus wasn't crazy – he was emotionally disturbed, but Harry reckoned that anyone terrified of touch, water, who begged for punishment, who thought sexual favours to anyone was acceptable, had reason to be

Crazies didn't _always_ have reasons like that.

"There are multiple hospitals in Great Britain that specialise in mental health. Wizarding hospitals. I know of an excellent one that will ensure-"

"Wait – Wizarding mental healthcare that doesn't just Obliviate and forget about it?" Harry interrupted his former head of house. "Because for some reason, I thought that was the norm."

McGonagall had the grace to flush. "Most patients there are, admittedly, damaged beyond repair-"

_Like Alice and Frank Longbottom. _An Obliviate could never help them.

"-however, the are professionals for him there around the clock. It would help him to talk and live around someone who doesn't own him, and you are going to need to do something when you join the Auror programme – what will you do with Severus and..." she nodded to a snapshot of Teddy, Remus, and Tonks Harry kept on an end table.

"Teddy." Harry supplied, annoyed that she had forgotten his godson's name.

"-when you get an unexpected firecall at the in the morning to Japan? The Auror Training Programme is very unpredictable."

Harry didn't find it necessary to explain to her that he had not been accepted into the programme, even though he was Harry freaking Potter. Apparently it was because he had 0-4 free hours a day, when he needed much more. He didn't know how he could pull off four, much less seventeenish.

He was too busy imaging Severus in a green hospital gown, in a white padded room, staring at the wall. Going mad of loneliness, the urge to apologise with no one to apologise to, the lack of intellectual stimulation.

Just when he was starting to recover in the slightest, McGonagall announced this in front of him. Suggesting she thought he was a burden, that he was interfering with Harry's life.

Harry could just tell what Severus was thinking. He could hear the apologies coming in as soon as she left, and see like a Seer the hours of convincing Harry would put into telling Severus he was not a burden, that Harry loved him, that he was fine. He could see the look on Severus' face that would be there for weeks, as consequence.

"He's not crazy." Harry said.

"He's not _well_."

True. He was visibly unwell. But that didn't mean hospital. Harry could never do that to Severus.

What it seemed like few could see was that there were few fixes to the situation. Severus was a slave. He always would be. That would never change. Severus could not forget his memories – the laws and rules of slavery were important for him to know. At absolute best – and at a huge long shot – Severus could become Snape... but he would always be owned. Never be free.

But of course, no one could know that like Harry and Severus did. They couldn't possibly.

**Coming up next in Unwell...  
..._Chapter Fifty-Six: Master has a Friend_**


	56. Master has a Friend

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Six  
"Master has a Friend"**

* * *

Harry ran the comb from the crown of Severus' head to the ends of his hair. It was just as thin and lank as it had been for the past eight years, but it wasn't _overly_ greasy, and thanks to the nutritive potion, was even rather shiny.

In other words, it wasn't _disgusting_, like Snape's had been.

"Master, may I ask you a question?" Severus asked. He was kneeling on the bathroom floor.

_You just did. _"Yeah."

Severus was silent a moment. "Will you be purchasing another owl? To deliver your mail, master?"

Harry began to tie Severus' long hair back. "I'm not sure. If owls dislike you ask much as you say they do, I don't want one around. I can always go to the post office, or-" He stopped.

Severus was not ready to deliver mail. Harry wanted Severus to fly as something fun, not because he was serving 'master'. He didn't know how well Severus _could_ fly – he never looked too comfortable on a broomstick, from Harry's memories. And what if his slavery affected his Animagus? What if he had a panic attack as a raven and could not calm himself to transfigure back (then what if Teddy transformed to a fish and got stuck? Harry's have a bird and a fish, instead of a family)? What if it did more harm than good? Without knowing anything about Animagi, he didn't know the risks. And without a therapist to turn to who was supposed to know things about brains, Harry was flying by the seat of his trousers, and was therefore being extra careful.

"Maybe when you're feeling better, we can try letting you be... what's your Animagus named"

"Named, Master? I apologise – I do not understand. Please-"

"It's okay. No punishment. Did you name your Animagus form?"

Harry could only see part of Severus' face from where he sat on the lid of the toilet, but it seemed to have a look of bewilderment on it.

"No, sir – shall I?" Severus answered, unsurely.

"No, no. No reason to, I mean. I just asked because my dad and Sirius, and- no, never mind. I was just saying that one day – maybe – you could deliver the mail if you wanted to. Would you? Like that, I mean?"

He stood up, causing Severus to follow suit, consequently nearly falling over in the small bathroom.

"Yes, sir!" Severus' eyes lit up as he steadied himself on the towel rack.

Harry eyed Teddy in his playpen, from the doorway. "Why? Why would you want to?"

"To please my master, sir."

"Is there any other reason?" Harry asked. "Do you like delivering mail?"

Severus looked almost guilty. "I enjoy flying, sir."

Harry smiled at him. "Then give me a few more weeks, and we'll see. Do you want to set the table for me? For me, you, Teddy, and Angela? I'm going to try to put Teddy down – he's so cranky, lately."

"Yes, Master."

Harry had kept in touch with the girl he had met at the pub a few weeks ago. They had written letters, Firecalled late at night, and a few times she had even stepped through – once Teddy and Severus were both sound asleep, of course. She was nice, and admitted that she usually dressed fairly conservatively – it was only when she dressed up at night, when she went out, that she liked to play it up. Harry knew girls liked to dress special when they went out – that didn't mean they were sluts, he was pretty sure. He personally thought Angela had gone a little _far_ in not wearing knickers, but he supposed she was embarrassed enough by the incident, and probably didn't need told.

It was nice being able to talk to her because with her, he didn't feel like he was missing to terribly much. Whenever he spoke to Ron (who was usually exhausted and more often that not not home due to the Auror Training Programme), he usually felt a bit envious of Ron's life – not for the first time in the past many years. Hermione had overwhelmed herself with her Cambridge classes, as to be expected, and had little time to talk. Neville was apprenticing Goldilocks at Goldilocks' Nursery, and while they were good friends, rarely had enough to say to each other when not in person – guys were like that. Seamus was too far away for the extra charges to be reasonable, and Dean was living with his ailing grandmother, in Wales. Ginny was dating the son of a rapist, and Luna usually left Harry mentally exhausted, not socially stimulated.

He liked how Angela made him _feel_. She made him feel less lonely, and like a real person, as opposed to... a stay at home... someone.

They had not had sex yet. She had promised him that they had not had it that night, and bloke-to-bloke, Ron had assured Harry that he was pretty sure they hadn't. And they would not, for quite some time – Harry still wasn't ready for it – but that wasn't to say he wasn't looking forward to having it in the future.

Tonight, the future would begin to begin. Because Angela was coming for dinner, graciously supplying the take out curry.

'Excited' wasn't an accurate enough word to describe Harry, but she knew Severus would have one. The man was like a walking thesaurus.

* * *

_Thrilled_. Master was elated. Severus watched as he spoke quickly, and enthusiastically ate his meal. He had a feeling that the enthusiasm was not over the spicy food, too spicy for Severus' stomach.

Severus watched the way his master laughed at cracks the young blonde made. He could not let his eyes rest on his master's eyes, but he was sure they were lit with a kind of excitement that would never be reserved for Severus.

_And why should it be? You're his slave. You are supposed to strive to be unnoticed. You do not want your master smiling at you. Smiling is bad. And it always means trouble._

Severus stared down at the bowl of food, pretending to be oblivious to the food that had been tossed on him from the high chair tray directly above him.

Smiling was not _always_ bad. _Occasionally_, it was all right. For example, Master Teddy smiled nearly all the time. The young Metamorphmagus, whether a toothy grin, or a wide toothless smile, rarely _didn't _smile. And Master rarely smiled over bad things. He smiled when he was pleased, or happy. Bad things did not usually make Master smile.

_Master is happy with the woman here. Your master is pleased. Be happy that he is happy. That is all that is important to you._

Severus was not allowed to make eye contact with those above him, unless instructed otherwise. He could look _at_ the eyes, but only briefly, and unobserved. He was also usually on his knees, meaning he usually saw things from the waist down.

A lot could be told from the waist down. One could tell if a man was aroused. And how he might go about relieving himself by the style of trousers. You could see the hands from that level – big calloused hands meant a hard worker, which meant the person could be kind to slaves, but they could also deliver harsh blows. Manicured, taken care of hands, usually meant the opposite.

The young woman wore Muggle jeans. That signalled practicality, as well as someone who was caught up with current times. She wore heels, however, which was a sign that she put her practicality on the wayside to feel powerful and imposing. Her hands were well-taken care of, but her nails were painted clear (he could tell, despite being clear, because of how many times he had painted Mistress Weston's nails), which meant that she cared about herself, but did not spend so much time in it that she was a _danger _to someone like Severus.

She looked like one that could make master happy, Severus supposed, but then why was Severus not sure about her? Something about her made him feel unsettled. It was not his position to say anything, but it was his duty to protect his master. If she hurt him and Severus had not said something, was it Severus' fault?

No, not if she simply broke his heart. But if she tried to kill him, it would be.

But she would not try to kill him. She seemed to authentically care for master. The way she brushed his hand with hers... but what did Severus know of such things?

As the night went on, Severus found himself feeling confused over the sheer normalcy of he evening. It was confusing, because he had not had a normal evening in months. He was not sure exactly how long he had been at Master's, but it was September. He had been there all summer.

Most of Master's attention was on the woman. He did play with Master Teddy a bit and speak to Severus, often times seeming like he was trying to bring him into the conversation, but for the most part, Severus felt like a fly on the wall, as a proper slave should feel.

"I should get my godson to bed." Master said, as Master Teddy laid on the carpeted floor. "He's pooped."

"Why do you call him that?" Mistress D'Angelo asked, her curiosity evident in her voice. "He's your son now – doesn't he call you 'daddy'? What does he call you, Harry?"

"Um... 'Arry, for the, um, most part."

"'Harry'? For the most part?"

"Okay, actually, the whole part."

"Harry!" The shrillness of her voice hurt Severus' ears.

"What?" Master said, defensively, picking up Master Teddy. "I called my godfather by his first name!"

"That's different – did he raise you?"

"Um... no." Master admitted. "But if he had, I still would have called him 'Sirius'. He wouldn't have wanted to make me forget my dad."

"You can have two dads." Mistress D'Angelo insisted. "It's unhealthy for a kid to call his parent by their first name. My dad died when I was three, and I call my adoptive dad 'dad'. It's not like I'm _replacing_ the other one, though."

Master sighed. "Yeah. It's just complicated. I mean, I've got a picture of Remus on his dresser – don't got one of just Tonks – yet – but I don't know how else to-"

"Harry," Mistress D'Angelo put her hand on his arm, "maybe you should read some books on adoption."

"Gryffindors don't read anything – they just ask someone who knows."

Severus pushed the memories back, despite a terrible headache that could surely rival one of his master's. He refused to let the memories in. It would have been easier to Occlude and not listen to their speaking, but Master had recently all but ordered for him not to.

Master began up the stairs. "Severus, will you be okay down here while I put Teddy to bed?"

Severus had been allowed to stay awake until nine-thirty of late. Whilst Master Teddy laid down, he usually waited alone, or with Gik, in the sitting room. He was always okay while Master put Master Teddy to bed.

"Oh, we'll be fine." Mistress D'Angelo sweetly said. "Take your time, Harry."

The room become silent, save for the ticking clock and crackling fireplace. It was only rarely that quiet. For some reason, whenever it was that quiet, it triggered a small amount of anxiety in Severus.

"So, Severus, I guess you don't remember me from Hogwarts. Ravenclaw, left in 1995?" Mistress D'Angelo asked.

Severus bit down on his lip, trying to keep the memories at bay. Occlumency was not actually supposed to be used to block memories, and the practise could be damaging. Perhaps that contributed to making Severus a bad slave. But he could not stop.

"I do not recall, mistress," he cringed. "I will ask my master to punish me however he deems fit." _He never deems punishment fit._

"Oh, it's not a big deal," she said. "Harry said something about amnesia or blocked memories. My brother's brother-in-law was a follower of You-Know-Who, and doesn't remember anything of it- he got Obliviated in battle or something, and he's still toiling away in some slave camp or whatever they do to you guys. So, is it true my uncle got killed by one of you, with the marks? He was a half-blood."

Severus did not recall, not with his Occlumency shields like they were. A good slave would take them down to answer the question properly. However, Severus' master had said to leave them up to block memories if he wanted, and Severus' master was certainly not one to manipulate with words.

The bookshop worker's little sister? Battle? One of you? Had Severus been that terrible? It was no wonder he was being punished like he was, as a slave. And the mark... was that the slave brand/mark on his forehead, or the dark tattoo up his arm?

"I do not recall, Mistress." Severus kept his eyes to his knees, which looked knobby even under the trousers he wore. "I apologise for that. Also, I apologise for whatever pain I have perhaps bestowed upon your family. Perhaps my master-"

"-oh, yeah, right. Like he'll punish you for doing something you don't remember." She scoffed, her tone changing to one Severus recognised well – annoyance. She leaned over and lit her Muggle cigarette with her wand. "I never liked him, anyway. Mentally deranged. Tried to kill my cat when I was twelve. My uncle, that is, not my brother-in-law... not that he doesn't deserve what he got, too."

Severus barely heard the comment on the cat. He was too busy watching the smoke waft from her cigarette to the ceiling. Severus' master did not smoke, and certainly did not want his home smelling of such.

It was Severus' responsibility to keep his master pleased.

"Mistress, is there a charm you could please place on your cigarette?" Severus tried to ask. "My master, I do not believe, minds smokers in his home, as long as proper spells are placed to ensure-"

"-oh, yeah, yeah." She wandlessly put a spell on her cigarette. "Does Harry know you're such a nag? Shit, if I had a slave like you, I'd be telling you to shut up left and right. Harry's too kind, though. Almost too kind, don't you think?"

Was Severus a nag? He hoped not. He hoped he was just saying what his master would ask, if his master were there. Was Severus' master a nag? Was it wrong to wonder that about your master? If Severus' Master _was_ a nag, was it all right if he was?

And how was he to respond to that question? "Master is very kind."

Mistress D'Angelo took a long drag. "Kind and innocent. Sexually, anyway. In other ways... I'll fix that soon enough, though."

Again, Severus did not know how to respond. "Yes, Mistress."

Master came down the stairs two at a time, smoothing his unruly black hair with his hands. "We all right down here?"

Mistress D'Angelo put out her cigarette. "Yeah. Is Teddy asleep?"

Gik curled onto Severus' lap, who was almost just as well as forgotten by his betters. It was just as well, though Severus had a feeling he did not ever want to be noticed, even for the briefest of times, by Mistress D'Angelo again.

**Coming up next in _Unwell_...  
...**Chapter Fifty Seven:** _Interlude: An Article_**


	57. Interlude: An Article

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Seven  
"Interlude: An Article"**

* * *

Harry rolled off the sofa, and fell hard onto the carpet. He spent at least half of his nights falling asleep on the sofa, trying to stay up to the time a normal adult did, but usually fell asleep only minutes after putting Severus to bed.

Perhaps that was a sign that he should give it up, and go sleep in his rarely used bedroom on the first floor.

He rubbed his eyes. What had that noise come from? What had caused him to wake so suddenly? It wasn't Severus, was it? Teddy?

He glanced over to the stairs, waiting to hear another sound. Waiting to know whether it was Severus or Teddy needing comforted from a nightmare. Teddy's nightmares, inconsequential, the stuff children's nightmares were made of – nightmares of stolen candy, and monsters under the crib, from what Harry could only surmise from stereotypical children. Severus' nightmares, terrible, the kind of thing one only had if they had suffered something terrible – nightmares of, from what Harry could make out from Severus' sobs and screams, pain, non-consensual sex, and an unhappy owner.

The latter made Harry sicker than it maybe should have.

But Teddy was not crying. He was sleeping soundly... unless he had just cried out and gone right back to sleep, as often babies did. Severus would be stifling his sobs in his pillows by now, struggling to remain quiet not to disturb his master... and that was only if he was coherent enough to realise that he was safe, that it was only a bad dream.

Maybe it's a burglar. There had been a burglar on Privet Drive once. They had broken into the house, and gone straight to the cupboard under the stairs. That had been a frightening night for a little Harry.

But the house was silent. And dark, as it should be. Except the fireplace was...

He looked to see a letter floating in the fireplace. Upon examining it, he immediately discovered it was from George, who had simply written on the envelope;

_If you ever need me, little man, you know where I live._

Harry was too tired, too curious, to be indignant about the fact that he was _not _a little man. He opened the envelope, and felt his heart drop at the hastily cut-out article he read.

**_GLORIFIED BROOMSTICK CEO  
MAULED BY RATS_**

RICHARD H. WESTON, 39, OF LONDON was mauled last evening outside Knockturn Alley. Not by muggers, ex-followers of you-Know-Whom or by the famed candlestick choker (see p. 3), but by rats.

Yes, you read it here first. Rats. Apparently a pack of rats attacked Weston late last night, October 4th, 1999, at around 11:50 PM. Shop owners in Knockturn Alley have complained of an excessive amount of creatures, even considering the area, but no one ever dreamed that they were the danger leading off of the High Street, Diagon Alley.

Questions remain, of course, surrounding the incident. What was Weston doing so late at night in such a notorious place. Illegal Potions? A gambling problem? Merlin forbid, Dark Arts? And what enticed the rats to attack such an upstanding man, rather than the delusional wizards and warty witches that haunt the place? Details will soon emerge.

Mr. Weston received many scratches and bites, several body parts completely eaten away. He will remain in a potion-induced coma until the body parts are fully regrown.

-STELLA SYLVESTER

**Coming up next in Unwell...  
..._Chapter Fifty-Eight: A Step Out Of (In?) Line_**


	58. A Step Out In or Out of Line

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Eight  
"A Step Out Of (In?) Line"**

* * *

"Severus!" Harry called, reaching his hand down to test the temperature of the water coming from the tap. "Severus, it's time for your bath!"

Severus hadn't liked taking baths in the entire time he lived with Harry. But lately, Harry had been noticing some resistance on Severus part. One could interpret that as a good sign – Severus had probably always hated baths, noting Snape's greasy hair – but it wasn't that simple.

Severus was resisting in a Dobby-esque way. Instead of outright saying 'no', he avoided getting into the bath until the pain on his forehead, the pain of his enslavement curse, forced him to comply. It reminded Harry a lot of how Dobby had been.

Severus' way of avoiding taking the bath started out with what Harry called 'misdirection'. They were attempts worthy of a Hufflepuff, but attempts nevertheless. It had started out with talk of dishwater and the kitty, but lately had branched off into more creative ideas – sometimes, Harry genuinely forgot about the bath.

But tonight, he refused to allow Severus to trick him. Severus was not in charge, Harry was. If Severus got better, then Harry could slowly relinquish some and all control, but until then, Severus would take a damn bath. He was too afraid of magic directed at him to face it nightly, and Severus usually needed them.

And it couldn't hurt Severus' fear of water, only help, Harry figured.

No response came from Severus.

"I know you hear me!" Harry hollered. "Severus! You hear things I don't – I _know_ you hear me!" He couldn't believe Severus was outright ignoring him – it had to be killing his head.

He knew he should be more patient. Severus trying to disobey was technically an excellent sign, but it made things really difficult at a time when Harry absolutely did not need things to be difficult.

"Severus, Teddy is only going to be happy in his playpen for a few more minutes. Come take the bath, and get it over with!"

As if on cue, Teddy began to scream bloody murder on the top of his lungs. This was not a scream of 'I'm bored, let me out' or 'I'm sleepy, time for bed'.

Harry leapt to his feet and raced into the hallway, running into Severus, who had been scurrying into the loo.

Severus dropped to his knees. "Master," he greeted formally. Tears were steaming down his cheeks, but more noticeable than that was the swollen red skin around the nearly invisible mark on Severus' forehead.

Harry ignored him, and stepped over him, going over to teddy to check on him.

Teddy seemed fine, though had blood red skin. He quit crying when harry picked him up, but kept up the absurd skin tone.

_What took Severus so long to obey? What made Teddy cry? _It wasn't too hard to figure out the gist of it.

Severus had gone too far this time. It was not debatable. Harry knew it, and knew Severus knew it.

"Stay put, Ted." Harry sat Teddy back in the playpen, and when back into the bathroom.

Severus was not in the tub, but standing naked at the sink. He had a damp wash cloth in hand, scrubbing at his cheek. It was red. Raw.

"Severus, stop." Harry snapped.

Severus jumped at Harry's words, and knelt down on the floor. "M-M-M-Master."

_Breathe Harry. Don't snap at him. Teddy isn't hurt. It might not have even been Severus' fault. And if it is, yelling won't help. Breathe. _

"Severus, stand up and put your nightshirt on. We need to talk."

* * *

"All right," Harry said, settling down on the soda twenty minutes later. Teddy had been laid down to sleep. Severus' bath had been skipped, but he was dressed, teeth were brushed, hair was combed.

Severus was completely ready for bed, minus the bath, except for... this.

"Severus, tell me why you didn't come when I called you."

Severus had been biting his lip again, but there was no blood, yet. "I-I-I-I apologise, M-M-M-M-Master. I-I was try-trying to dis-distract you from m-my bath. I-I-I-I-"

"Slow down," Harry interrupted. "What did you do to try to distract me?"

Severus' head was deeply bowed, but Harry could see teardrops standing the lap of his nightshirt.

"I-I thought if... perhaps if Master Teddy d-did not be quiet, y-you would n-not make me take the b-bath, sir." Severus' speech was much more coherent when he slowed down.

"Because you don't like baths."

"Yes, master."

This talking to Severus about the way his mind worked was not easy. But he talked to Harry more about it than he ever had to Dr. Brown. Probably because he felt like he _had_ to, though.

"So, you scared him, to make him cry," Harry said.

"N-N-N-N- No, master." Severus began to shake. The tears fell harder, faster. "I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I..." He gulped in a breath. "I..."

"Severus?" Harry prodded.

"I pinched him." Severus looked up at Harry, his eyes wild with fear. "Not hard! I-I-I-"

_Severus pinched Teddy. Hurt him. Harmed him_

Conflicting emotions rose in Harry. One part of him – maybe the most sensible - wanted to do everything he could to keep Teddy and Severus apart. One part of him wanted to kick Severus out. Another part of him wanted to be overly rational.

_Who reported us to Wizarding Family Services, _Harry wondered for the millionth time, but this time, it was not like he usually did. This time, there was a guilty curiosity. When Wizarding Family Services had come to investigate, Harry had been sure things were okay. Severus was, for the most part, not a danger to Teddy.

_And he still isn't! It was just a pinch! Not even a hard one!_

_Yeah, a pinch now, a slap next, a poisoned toad after that..._

_Don't be ridiculous – Teddy doesn't even have a toad._

"Please punish me, master?" Severus whimpered. "Please - please, m-m-master. I-I-I do not know what com-compelled me t-to-"

Was it wrong to interrupt those on their road to recovery? "You hate baths," Harry said. "That's what compelled you."

Severus hesitated. "Yes, master."

"Severus, you cannot hurt Teddy. He's a baby – he didn't do anything to deserve pinching."

Severus' response was not understandable by Harry, because Severus was sobbing too hard.

"Teddy likes you, so it made him very sad that you hurt him. He was mostly just sad, not hurt, I think, but you still shouldn't have done it."

"Yes, master." Severus choked. "I-I think I-I need to be punished, sir." Severus hesitated. "You did tell me to tell you when I really thought I deserved it."

_I think I need to be punished, sir. _Harry had told Severus that. Severus usually begged for punishment, but hadn't in the past weeks. As _much_. But this time, did he deserve it?

It was Harry's first inclination to say 'no'. After all, who was he to punish another adult? One older than him. He punished Teddy on occasion, and still wasn't so sure he was doing that right (reading parenting books, like Angela had suggested, only confused him). He didn't know how to punish a slave, a slave that he wanted to act as little as one as possible...

"Well, what kind of punishment would this kind of situation call for?" Harry wrung his hands. "I mean, isn't that what that thing on your forehead is supposed to do? I mean, I'm disappointed – I'm very angry – but you'll never do it again, I don't think. I know, actually – I'm not letting you- don't you think your forehead, and my being angry is punishment enough?"

Severus did not move from his submissive position. "No, sir. However, you are wiser than me. It is you that makes decisions. Not a slave."

Were the situation any less serious, Harry might have snorted. Severus was much smarter than he was. "Why do you hate baths, Severus?"

"I do not. I merely hate water," Severus said without hesitation. "I realise it is wrong for me to hate something pure and of the earth, master. I do. I-I-I could make myself-" he was shaking like a leaf in the wind again.

"Okay, well, there are ways to avoid frequent baths, but that's another conversation. How do you think you should be punished? No pain involved- oh, shit, come closer. Let me touch your forehead – that looks terrible."

Slowly, Severus edged forward and rested his chin on Harry's knee. It added to Harry's discomfort the way he stared directly at Harry fly, rather than at Harry's face.

Harry brushed Severus' long hair back. The nutritive potion caused it to grow at an aggressive pace – soon, it would need to be cut, but the odds of Harry getting a chance to trim it magically was slim. Severus did consent to having a razor put to his throat, so pulling out the scissors... then again, what choice did Severus think he had?

The mark on Severus' forehead, usually white and faint, stood out boldly, swollen and red. The intricate design, full of curlicues and loops, extended from temple to temple. It was disgusting how a design so beautiful could mean something so terrible.

Inflamed like it was, it looked like a bad rash. It was hot to the touch.

Interesting how touching Severus' forehead did nothing for Harry, but did so much for Severus. For Harry, it was no different than touching Teddy's forehead, or one of his friends' (though that would be kind of unusual). It was just touching a forehead.

But for Severus, it seemed to be almost an erotic experience. He let out a deep breath, and relaxed. He turned his head so that his cheek lay on Harry knee. His dark eyes closed, and the tears no longer ran from his eyes. He ceased shaking, and simply looker calmer than Harry had ever seen him, ever – except for maybe when he was in the hospital wing, unconscious, from Nagini's bite.

What was more impressive was to see how quickly the mark returned to its original colour. It had been red and inflamed for half an hour, after all.

Harry took his hand of Severus' head, causing any sensations Severus was feeling to stop. "Better?"

Severus slid off of Harry's lap, back into his customary submissive bow. "Yes, sir."

"Good, so I'll bet that hurt. Punishment enough."

Severus shook his head. "The pain followed with pleasure, sir. Had you left it alone, it would have ceased on its own."

_Shit_. "Okay, here are the ground rules – no pain, no skipped meals. It needs to be something fair."

"Yes, master."

_You could punish him by telling him Weston is in the hospital. _But that just seemed cruel. Now was not the time to mention Weston to Severus. He figured he should soon, but didn't know how. He didn't think Severus would be as happy as Severus and George were that Weston got his bits (they hoped) chewed off by rats. Knowing Severus, he would be distraught, because he had some owner-loyalty shit drilled into him. So why tell him?

Because Severus would want to know.

Back to punishments, he could have him sit in 'time out', staring at the wall, but without his French book, he would be doing that _anyway_...

Harry sighed. "Sev, can you bring me your French book?"

"Yes, sir." Severus scrambled to his feed, and hurried up the stairs.

Harry groaned as he felt another headache coming on. He opened up an end table drawer, and pulled out a vial of Dreamless Sleep. A vital he kept there, for safe keeping.

Typically, half a vial was standard dosage, but standard dosage hadn't helped him sleep in awhile. And he really needed sleep, if he was going to take care of a baby and help an increasingly difficult Severus.

_A whole vial can't hurt, _he figured, as he swallowed the tasteless potion.

He could feel the effects of the potion as he shelved the book, explained to Severus the punishment, and tucked him in.

And he was grateful.

**Coming up next in Unwell...  
..._Chapter Fifty-Nine: Two Chicken Specials_**


	59. Two Chicken Specials

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Nine  
"Two Chicken Specials"**

* * *

Severus' master looked ill. Not only ill – absolutely _deplorable_. Severus did not mean that as a disrespect to his master, and he would never tell his master how terrible he looked (unless asked directly, of course). It was simply a fact, how he looked. Master's hair was starting to cover his ears, and stick up at angles it never had before – that alone proved something, as master's hair tended to take on a life of its own as it was. Master's green eyes no longer shined like emeralds in the moonlight, but looked almost dull. Bags were underneath his eyes, making him look severely drained. Tired. Exhausted.

There was nothing Severus could do to make his master look and feel better, aside from being a good slave. At least, one might _think_ that. But Severus was starting to think that being a good slave was fruitless. His master did not seem to like Severus being a good slave. However, he did not like Severus being a _bad_ slave, either.

It was _almost_ as if he preferred for Severus to not act like a slave at all. But the idea seemed ludicrous. Severus had to act like a slave. He _was_ a slave. He always would be. He would rather die than act like he was not a slave... not that he would have a choice in the matter, but that was how it was supposed to be.

He did not know how to act like anything but a slave. Except an animal, perhaps. He had acted quite like one at Master Müller's, because it seemed to be how he wanted it.

Looking back on it, it seemed rather odd, though he could not recall it seeming that way at the time.

But his current situation was not any less so. After all, it was odd for a master to take his slave to a Muggle restaurant. It was even odder so for the slave to sit in a chair, a chair across from its master, sitting at equal height to free people, without any recognition to the differences in authority.

Severus shifted his feet beneath the table. He had shoes on for the first time that he could remember. They felt like heavy weights attached to his feet, squeezing them, locking them in, making them sweat. Master had insisted Severus wear them to the Muggle establishment, but promised that Severus would not have to wear them often. Master typically kept his promises to Severus, in Severus' experience, though he did not have to.

"Are you blokes ready?" The young waitress came over, notepad in hand.

"Um, yeah. Could we get a fizzy drink and a water?" Master asked. "No ice in either, please."

"Sure." The waitress paid Severus no mind as she scribbled Master's instructions.

"Um, and the roast chicken special," Master said, handing back the menus.

The waitress did not take them back. "Sharing is not allowed. You both need to order something." She turned to Severus, pen poised. "What would you like to order, sir?"

_Sir. Sir. _Severus could only stare at her, as if Confounded. He was been called 'sir'. Surely he could not point out her mistake – that would be wrong. But to call him that – in front of his master, no less – was-

"Um, do you have a kid's chicken meal?" Master asked.

She seemed very impatient. "Yes, but it is a kid's meal. For kids."

Master mock-pouted. "I'm nineteen."

The waitress was not buying it.

"Um, okay." Master scanned a menu. "Could we just get another chicken special then, please? 'Cept the salad instead of the chips?"

She frowned. "You're ordering for your father?"

_Poor master. _He was floundering in this environment. Typically, it was rude for a slave to speak when unaddressed, but it was also a slave's duty to protect its master.

"He is not my son," Severus spoke, carefully. "And I am very indecisive." He paused, wondering if any more was necessary to make her leave his master be. Wondering if he dared. "Is it restaurant policy to interrogate its patrons?"

A strange choking sound escaped Master. Severus looked at him to make sure the man was well, that he was not angry at the extra comment a good slave would have never made.

He did not appear to be.

Severus took a deep shaky breath, once the waitress left. How was it _her_ business what master did? It made sense that she would disallow the ordering of a children's meal, but to be rude otherwise... it was a shame that Severus could not explain his position to the Muggle woman – were she aware of Severus' submissive life, she would never assume he could order food for himself.

"Thanks for standing up for me, Sev." Master leaned across the table and patted Severus' hand. "I really appreciate it. You know, it made me really happy."

Severus looked down at his lap, unsure of what to say. 'Yes, Master' would be unwise in a Muggle environment.

Master removed his hand as the waitress brought the requested beverages, but once she left, Master continued speaking. "I don't know if you realise this or not, but a couple years ago, what you said to her was exactly something you would have said then."

Severus waited for his master to take a sip of his fizzy drink before taking a sip of the cool water. "I do not recall, sir." _Sir_. That word was poor choice for a Muggle environ. "Please – I do not typically speak to those in authority like I did. However, I felt the need to defend you, and being a Mug-" He stopped.

"It's fine. So, with the Occlumency being used like you're using it, how much do you remember of before?" Master did not seem to feel the same need to be cautious about magical references. "If you don't mind me asking."

Of course Severus did not mind. His master owned him, bathed him, clothed him, knew nearly every part of him. Severus concealed nothing, had no desire to hide anything.

"However much I desire to recall," Severus explained. "As of right now, I recall nearly nothing. When you mention the snide comments, however, it does not come as a surprise, because I do know of which you speak. I simply do not _remember_." Occlumency was a very hard thing to explain to a person – Severus briefly wondered how he learned it.

"Oh," Master said. "So, does it get confusing? I mean, if I mentioned the Pensieve in fifth year? Do you know what I'm talking about? Oh, shit – bad example. I hope not – you might get kind of pissed at me if you remember."

"I will never be, as you say, 'pissed 'at you, Master," Severus sincerely assured his owner. He fought to keep his memories at bay. "And I feel that I would know what you are speaking of, if I let myself think about it." he hesitated. "Shall I?"

"Not now," Master hurriedly said. "Only when you want to, when I'm around, and we're in a private place."

"I understand, Mast-" Severus bit his lip.

"Hey, let down on the lip," Master warned, passing Severus a white napkin. "So, let me tell you, once you tried to teach me Occlumency – I failed. It's my fault, and if I told you how much I wish I could go back in time and change that, I'd probably start babbling, and blubbering. Crying like a pansy. So let's not go there."

Personally, Severus thought his master babbled quite often, but that was usually Severus' fault, as Severus rarely responded to his master's words.

"Anyways, you put your memories in a Pensieve, and I looked. It was pretty intense. You threw cock- nevermind. Occlumency. I don't understand it that well, and what textbooks there are are Greek to me. So, does it hurt to use Occlumency for so long? How long have you been using it to, you know, not think about things?"

Master rarely questioned Severus so. Severus almost bit his lip as he stressed, but remembered not to in time. "It does not hurt, sir. It is rather tiring to my brain, but I prefer exhaustion rather than remembering." He dud not answer his master's other question. He knew he began doing it at Master Mering's, but why, he did not know. He just knew it was a bad idea to think about his past life. He had a feeling it would hurt, though he was not sure why.

He did not like thinking about thinking about it.

"Oh," Master said. He reached down into a brown paper bag that he had brought into the restaurant with him. "I got you something."

Severus' eyes widened as Master pulled a small object out of the bag. It was a Rubik's Cube, just like the one he had been working on at Mistress Brown's office. It was out of its Muggle package, and in complete disarray.

"I know you liked working on the one at Dr. Brown's, and I thought you might like working on this one." Master sheepishly smiled. "Yeah, sorry. You're going to have to start over, which sucks, I know. And you don't have to use it. I just thought you, um, might. You have Gik and your French book, but I thought something else..." Master's voice trailed.

_Master is unsure, _Severus realised. _He is nervous. He is not sure if he is doing the right thing._

As the cliché went, the realisation hit Severus like a ton of bricks.

Everything Master did was supposed to be right. Master was supposed to _always_ be right. But if Master was not sure if he was right, what did that mean? Was Master right by giving the Rubik's Cube to Severus, or not? Could _both_ decisions be right?

Severus barely noticed as the waitress brought two plates of food in. He was too busy struggling to breathe normally, to not shake so violently that he fell off the chair. He struggled to act normally, to not draw attention form the Muggles.

He was not sure he succeeded.

He closed his eyes, trying to block the confusion and images that crossed his mind.

"_What are you?" Master Mering pointed his wand at Severus._

"_A former spy," Severus had idiotically replied._

"_Crucio!"_

_Screams._

"_What are you?"_

"_A human. Unlike-"_

"_Crucio!"_

_Screams._

"_What are you?"_

"_A slave." Gasps for breath._

"_Whose slave?"_

"_Your slave."_

_A malicious chuckle. "What are you supposed to do?"_

_Shaky breath._

"_Crucio! Answer your master! What do you exist to do?"_

"_Obey my master! Please my master! Please..." the voice broke. "Please..."_

_Foul breath entered the senses. Warm breath. "Why?"_

_Why? "I obey you because... because..."_

"_Crucio! Because your owner is wise! Smarter! In charge! Always right!"_

"_My master is always... always right."_

"Severus? Sev? Hello?" Master waved his hand in front of Severus' eyes. "Buddy? You okay? Shit, I knew this was a bad idea."

It was proper for a slave to respond to his master whenever possible. Severus was undergoing something of a shock, but he still had his vocal cords and tongue, and was required to use them.

"Y-Yes, Master," Severus' voice shook. "I-I-I thank you for the cube, sir. Per-Perhaps I will be able to master it now that I have more time to devote to it."

"Yeah!" Master smiled. "And maybe you can teach me."

"Yes, sir." Severus took a bite of his meal when his master did.

They ate in silence for several minutes, before Master spoke again. "Hey, could I tell you something? Something I'm not sure I should tell you?"

_He is unsure. Because he is not always right._ That made Severus far more afraid to be owned by someone than before.

"You can tell me, sir, however, it is your decision." Severus did not know what his master would worry over telling Severus about. He was just a slave.

Master sighed. "Well, do you remember Richard Weston? Master Weston? He owned you some time ago."

Severus would always remember Master Weston. He quite liked the man, and as much as he liked his current master, it still caused him terrible anguish to remember how Master Weston had sold him. He was Severus' favourite, by far, out of all his old owners.

"I remember him well, yes."

"Well, he's in the hospital right now," Master said, slowly. "St. Mungos. He's okay – just a, um, accident. He'll be fine. It's in the papers and stuff, and I figured you'd want to know about it. Severus?"

Master Weston was in the hospital. The kind and good master who had petted Severus. Who had whispered such kind things in his ear. Who had let Severus read books. Who had once let Severus sit at the table and eat with him. Who had taken such good care of him...

But Master _also_ petted Severus on occasion. Master never _whispered_ kind things, but said them for all to hear. A master who brought books _specifically_ for him. Who was sitting across the table form him that very _moment_. Who not only took care of Severus, but verbally said that he _cared_ for him.

Did that mean Master Weston only cared about Severus as an investment? Did that mean Master _didn't _just take care of him as for as an investment?

Master Weston had healed the internal injuries he had caused. Master had internal injuries healed that he hadn't caused.

"Master, this has been a really confusing day for me," Severus felt tears falling down his cheeks. He hadn't noticed he was crying.

"I can imagine," Master softly said, passing Severus another napkin.

"May we go?"

"Good idea, Severus. I've got a feeling they're about to kick us out, anyway."

**Coming up next in Unwell...  
..._Chapter Sixty: Currently Untitled_**

**Author's Note:**_Chapter sixty. _Sixty_. I cannot believe _Unwell_ is as long as it is, as it was originally intended to be no longer than 50,000 words. I cannot believe all the support this story has. I love and respect all my readers, and have never once asked for a review... and yet it has nearly one thousand. I thank you all._

_Thank you, Buukkin, for your wonderful fanart. It is lovely – never did I dream, as I wrote that scene, that someone would draw fanart for it. Never has anyone created art for any of my stories – trying to express how honoured and numbingly happy I feel over it will be fruitless, so I will stop here. I hope you do not mind me sharing the link, so that others may enjoy it; WWW DOT yaoi DOT y-gallery DOT net /view/ 776080_


	60. Christmas, 1999

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty  
**"**Christmas, 1999"**

Harry smiled, watching Gik chase a ball of Mrs. Weasley's jumper yarn.

Severus actually laughed out loud as she jumped on his chest, something he rarely did, something he probably wouldn't have done had he realised he was not alone in the Weasley sitting room.

It was Christmas Eve, and Harry had come inside to check on Severus. He knew Severus would be all right – Hermione kept an eye on him, and Severus was fairly comfortable around her, but Ginny's boyfriend had interrupted the boys' Quidditch game by showing up. Harry had to be indoors with Severus when he first saw Nathan. Just in case.

Severus had been briefed on the subject of Nathan. He had been explained to that Mistress Ginny was dating Master Nathan Weston, that Master, Master Ron, and Mistress Hermione did not approve. He had also been warned that Master Nathan would be staying Christmas Eve supper. He had been given the option of staying home alone, even, something Harry was not too comfortable with, but was willing to risk – Severus was damaged, but not stupid. He was wise, even if the reasons for his decisions were usually warped. If he didn't feel like he could cope with Nathan in the room, Harry was sure that it would have been obvious, that Severus might have said something.

But he didn't. The fact that the two were dating didn't seem to bother Severus much at all, if at all.

But if Severus' reaction was bad, then Harry wanted to be there for him, to defend him, comfort him, hold him – whatever was needed. He had heard 'Master Nathan, no, please, stop – spiders!' (or something to that effect) screamed out of Severus room once a few months ago, and that had been one too many times. He didn't know what Ginny's boyfriend had done that involved Severus and spiders, but he had an image of spiders creeping down Severus' throat that gave him the heebie-jeebies.

Severus was slowly changing. He seemed less afraid of Harry, and did well with Teddy under most circumstances. He occasionally started a small conversation, and had twice surprised Harry by sharing something he had read, out of the blue. He weighed the minimum of the proper amount for a man his age, and was perfectly capable of trimming his own nails and taking proper care of the few teeth he had left.

Not that he would have 'a few' for long – Harry knew for a fact that Hermione the Dentist's Daughter was giving Severus a potion to regrow teeth, for Christmas. It was a painful process, so it would be awhile before Harry would feel okay with Severus taking it, but it was a nice and generous gift. It'd be nice for Severus to not have to gnaw on small bites of food.

It was starting to scare Harry how in control of Severus' life he was. Right now, it was okay because Severus complied with orders easily – he wanted to obey. What was more, he genuinely _needed_ them – without them, Harry had a feeling Severus would be the definition of 'lost'. But if Snape came back, all of that would change. Harry knew he should just be happy about the fact that Snape could come back, but it posed too complicated of situations to get too excited over it.

Severus noticed Harry in the room and bowed, murmuring his greetings.

Harry just smiled, and after a few moments, Severus did, too.

"It's supper time." He leaned down and offered Severus his hand. "Let's leave Gik and Crookshanks alone, and go eat, hmm?"

Severus hesitated, before taking Harry's hand.

Harry's hand, much smaller than Severus' large one, steered Severus Snape's life. It was a very sobering thought.

* * *

"How's your father, Nathan?" Mrs. Weasley asked, as family and friends surrounded the table.

_Like owl shit, I hope._ Harry scooped some roast potatoes onto Severus' plate.

"Well, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you," Nathan answered. He was stuffy and boring, refusing to wear a paper crown. "He is out of the hospital, and back to usual, I assume. Mum says he had been spending more time than ever at the office since the accident."

George, who sat on Severus' other side, patted Severus' hand, that was curled so tightly around the fork that his knuckles were white. He shook slightly, but seemed to take comfort from George's gesture.

Good old George. George and Mr. Weasley seemed to really understand Severus, like Harry, Teddy, and maybe Hermione did. Harry reckoned that was because they were the ones who sneaked in to see Snape before Henderson's.

Nathan had not acknowledged Severus' presence at all. He acted as if Severus were not even there. It was probably because he was a slave. Nathan probably hated sitting at the same table with Severus – Harry dared him to say anything about it, and he'd find his nose permanently as big as Pinnochio's.

Harry had seen that film once as a small child, and remembered not much, but that big nose. He _dared_ Nathan.

"Where is Angela, 'Arry?" Fleur asked Harry. "I thought zat she was coming - I vanted to meet her."

"Nah – she's spending Christmas with her grandparents in Wales. You'll meet her if we date long enough, I prom- Teddy, no pig nose! Eat your veggies – piggies don't like vegetables!"

"Maybe that's his point, Harry," Ron remarked.

"Piggies!" Teddy screeched, a snort escaping his snout.

There were twelve people sitting at the table. Were it not for the wizard space Harry had helped Mr. Weasley set up earlier, there was no way all of the people would have fit in the small, but tidy kitchen. Teddy was the youngest but not for long, for Fleur proudly displayed a football sized tummy.

"At least he's not a cat again," Hermione giggled.

Teddy was forever toddling around with kitty whiskers, no doubt stemming from the constant company of Gik. Harry didn't mind that – it was his eternal worry, however, that Teddy would turn parts of himself into a fish. Fish didn't breathe oxygen – would that mean Harry would have to submerge Teddy into the bathtub? Would Teddy die? Hermione said it was rare for Metamorphmaguses to transfigure their entire bodies into animals, but it was one of the things that kept him up at night just the same, Teddy and his transfiguring.

"Do you have to put a bonnet on him when you go out in the Muggle world, Harry?" Ginny's plate was stacked higher than Ron's.

"Only when it's cold outside – pass the pudding, please." Harry didn't explain the glamours he used for Teddy, something Andromeda had used for both Tonks and Teddy while she raised them. The glamours were simple second-year magic, but wholly effective.

Harry had pointedly not spoke to Ginny any more than was necessary. He did not know what she was playing at, dating Nathan Weston, and he didn't care. He loved her, but that didn't mean he had to like her, at the moment.

He watched the quiet exchanges between Severus and George, making sure Severus was all right. He seemed to be fine, but one could never be too cautious-

"Fuck a duck!" Harry yelped, inserting his fingers into his mouth. His fingers had grazed a hot dish.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cried. "What did you say?"

_Shit_. It was common knowledge that you did not say vulgar things in front of your mother, but that was something Harry was not in the habit of, as not only did he not use such language in excess, but his mother was dead. He had never sworn in the Weasley home. Well, except for that night in fourth-year he and Ron stayed up exchanging what dirty words they knew in whispers, like pubescent boys did.

But when taken by surprise, in pain, one often ends up saying a word, a phrase, a piece of slang, that they do not mean to. In less fortunate circumstances, those words are accidentally uttered in front of your mother, or in Harry's case, the closest thing to it.

The silence in the room made Harry's response all the more awkward. Everyone in the Burrow was staring open mouthed at Harry, save Teddy, who was happily drumming with his silverware, singing, and tugging on his paper hat.

Harry opened his mouth to give a feeble 'sorry' when the voice he least expected to hear spoke up.

"If you do not mind me replying my master's stead, Mistress Weasley," Severus deep voice broke the shocked reverie, "I do believe Master, in his shock, expressed his desire to fornicate with the main course."

It was Harry's turn to open his mouth in shock. Had Severus just... he had. He had made a joke. About Harry. In front of people, in what Severus considered public. He made a _joke_. Harry had never heard Severus make a joke in his life, he didn't think, that wasn't completely at someone else's expense.

Harry's stomach convulsed as he stared at Severus. The 'why' was easy enough to understand for Harry, as he had spent months learning how Severus thought; Severus wanted to deflect attention off of his master, to spare him the consequences, for speaking like he did. He wanted to 'rescue' his master, defend him.

That in itself wasn't bad – Severus speaking up without first being spoken to indicated that he was, in fact, on the road to recovery. But the consequences of it had disastrous implications; so much could go wrong so fast. Why did Severus have to rock the boat?

_Because he's getting better, like you want him to. You want him to get better and be Snape again, _remember_?_

It was George who broke the stunned silence with an easy-going laugh. "Good one, Severus – hey, you want a mince pie? Mum says they shouldn't be served at the table, but I say they're called 'pie', so..."

* * *

It was not long after the meal ended that Master announced it was time for Severus to go to bed. Severus had no right to object, but even if he had, he wouldn't have objected; he was exhausted. He had been too nervous to eat much during supper; sitting at a table with so many Masters and Mistresses had put such a knot in his stomach. So many of them had refused to look at him – Severus understood little to no eye contact was to be made between slave and superiors, but the extent of being ignored was ridiculous.

Worst of all had been Master Nathan. Severus could not say he was happy to see the boy, as he would have been had the boy's father showed up. Had Master Weston walked in the room, Severus was not sure he would have been able to properly control his actions, but Master Nathan – easy. He was just another bad memory, in a long line of them.

Master Nathan had refused to look at him more than the others. He wouldn't even _look_ at him. Severus did not want to be looked at _too_ much, as being noticed was a bad sign when you were a slave... it was a conflicting emotion. He knew he did not want to be seen or noticed, or knew he should want that... but he wanted to be. Just a bit.

Master had allowed Severus to skip the bath, saying that there were too many people wanting to take one to bother with an unnecessary bath. Master had taken the time to explain that it was not unnecessary because Severus was _unimportant_, that it was unnecessary because Severus did not have terrible body odour. Severus was glad Master had explained that, because for a moment, Severus had thought Master had implied Severus was unimportant, not necessary. A slave was to be _unnoticed_, but to be _unimportant_ was a terrible blow.

The room Master, Master Teddy, and Severus were to sleep in was on the third floor. It was a couple floors below the top one, making the noise the ghoul made at night minimal. As Master tucked Severus into one of the twin beds, Severus could only hear the ghoul banging against the pipes if he listened for it.

"This is Fred and George's old room," Master said, tucking the covers around Severus. "George is bunking with Ron for the night."

Severus searched his brain for a response that would be appropriate. "That was kind of him, for him to give up his room for you and your son."

"And you," Master added.

"Yes, Master."_ He gave up the room for Master, Master's son, and Master's slave._

"Okay, so George promised me that there was nothing in this room that will explode or do anything to startle us, but I'm not entirely sure I believe him. You did good with the Christmas crackers, though – I'm proud," Master said. "So don't be afraid if something does make a loud noise or emits yucky smell – if I'm not in here, if something like that happens, you can always come get me downstairs."

"Teddy," he nodded to the other twin bed, "would sleep through an air raid, so don't worry about him. Don't wake him up on purpose – in a bit, I'm going to come up and sleep in Teddy's bed with him."

Master and Master Teddy would share that night. It made Severus feel bad, that he slept in a bed by his lonesome, and Master and Master Teddy had to share. It made Severus wonder how hard it would be to conjure the crib into the Burrow. If Severus were permitted to use a wand, he could do it for his master. He remembered little of his past life, but he knew he knew how.

"Are you all right?" Master reached over and brushed Severus' hair out of his eyes.

Severus closed his eyes tightly, bracing himself until Master's touch was gone. "Yes, Master." He tightened his grip on Gik. "I... I suppose you are angry at me for the scene I made during supper."

"No, not angry," Master said, brushing imaginary dust from the coverlet. "A little surprised – you've been speaking up in my defence quite a bit lately."

"Is that a problem, Master?" Severus had been under the impression that that was what a slave was supposed to do.

"No, not at all. I just hope you don't feel obligated to."

"I do," Severus admitted. "I apologise, Master. I don't suppose a punishment is in order?"

Master gave a wry smile. "No, it's not. Goodnight, Severus – I love you."

"Goodnight, Master." Severus did not think a slave was supposed to say 'I love you' back, especially if the slave did not mean it. It wrecked havoc on Severus' heart just thinking about it – was a slave supposed to love its owner? In what type of love? Was there a separate love for slaves and masters, like there was a separate one for best friends, one for families, one for for spouses, and one for lovers? Did he feel that love? Was Severus bad, for not loving some of his past owners in that way? He could discern some feeling for Master, and some feeling for Master Weston, but they were different. They felt different. They were not the same feelings, and if they were love, it was not the same types.

Master got up and left the room. He typically left the door open a crack, so Severus would have just enough light to see, but he didn't – he shut it all the way, shutting Severus in the room with Master Teddy.

The room was dark. There was absolutely no light coming from anywhere, heavy drapes covered the windows. It was fairly silent, too, the only sounds the faint banging from the attic above, Gik's purring, and Master Teddy's slow breathing.

Severus brought Gik closer to his chest. It wasn't a _bad_ dark. It was not like at the Monster's, where Severus had been perfectly unable to see. Here, he could not see, but no one would come up behind him and hit him on the head with a blunt object-

He sat up, holding Gik close to him. It wasn't as dark when he did that – he could see light from underneath the door that way. And shadows underneath. Shadows that implied someone was standing outside the door.

Severus swallowed hard. Was Master still standing outside the door? Was he testing Severus for something? Or was it someone else, readying themselves to come in the room and take advantage of Severus?

_Master Nathan could be. Master Nathan is Master Weston's son._

Severus blinked away the tears. Master Nathan did not have the debonnaire that Master Weston had. He was not very thin like Master Weston was. And it was not entirely likely that he had chains and plugs in his duffel. A son was not necessarily his father.

But if something was not entirely likely, that meant it _was_ slightly likely. And although one would think Master Nathan would not use Severus with Master Teddy sleeping only feet away... Master Weston would have.

A terrible pain shot through Severus leg, and he shot out of bed before he realised what it was. A ghost pain. It wasn't a real pain, he knew that – the Monster was not there, sticking razor sharp blades into Severus' bones. It was impossible.

Mistress Brown had talked all about ghost pain, something Severus fully understood. She had never spoken about how to get it to go away, however.

_Go ask Master if you can crack open the door. You do not have to bother him, and tell him you're scared. Just explain that you like it open – the worst he can do is tell you 'no'. It is not as if he will punish you for it._

Severus kissed the top of Gik's head, praying to whoever was listening for courage, as he crept to the door. He placed his hand on the door's knob, slowly pulling it open, when he heard voices. A conversation, right outside the door.

He stopped opening it, and stilled.

"Oh, come on, Harry." It was Mistress Ginny's voice. "You can forgive Snape for all the terrible things he did, you can forgive Percy for nearly selling out his family. You can forgive Bellatrix Lestrange for killing your godfather... God dammit, you can forgive You-Know-Who for killing your-"

"Shut up right now." Master's voice was low, angry like Severus had rarely heard it. "Stop. You're going too far with Voldemort. You have no clue what it's like, what I've gone through, what I'm _still_ going through. You think I don't mind that my parents are dead? Don't you think I'd like them with me, helping me raise a kid – my kid, now, helping me... That's a whole different thing, Ginny. Don't you _dare_ go there."

"See? You can't even look at me. You won't give me a chance to explain – you're just passing judgement! And you don't even know Nathan – for all you know, he could be a good person."

Severus' stomach convulsed. They were having a conversation he knew he shouldn't be hearing, and his forehead burned. But as much as he wanted to tear himself away, he couldn't. He stayed, frozen in place.

"Is he?" Master challenged.

"He's nice, Harry. He's-"

"Yeah, but is he a _good person_?" Master interrupted. "I don't care if he's _nice_. _Nice_ doesn't cut it. Lucius Malfoy can seem _nice. Anyone_ can be _nice._ Snape... Snape was meaner than anyone I've ever met, 'cept maybe Voldemort, and he was a good person!"

_Snape_. They were talking about him. Severus knew that his name was also Snape, for that was his surname. Only he had a feeling that they were not talking about the 'him' he identified with, but the man of his past life.

The man he refused to think about.

"-promised me months ago that you would put Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban. Don't interrupt me – let me finish," Mistress Weasley said. "Now, I know you are insanely busy and don't have time to sleep, much less work on a trial."

Master had time to sleep. He simply couldn't do it well. Severus knew that by the empty Dreamless Sleep vials he had found hidden around the small home.

"I know that you'll keep your promise, but face it; it could be another nine months, another year, another five years, before you can even think about it. Between raising a toddler, working with Snape, the Auror bloody Training Programme, I give you three years before you can even stop to catch your breath."

"I'm an impatient girl – you know that. You need evidence to put Lucius Malfoy away, Harry – the 'I'm Harry Potter' thing might work to get you through the Malfoy's front gate, through the Auror Training Programme faster, it might work to buy you Snape, it might work for you to not play by the rules of someone else's game, but it's not going to work for the Wizengamot. The whole Death Eater thing is very serious – trust me, I've read up on it."

Mistress Ginny continued her monologue. "You're going to need solid evidence going against everything he's convinced the Ministry of. You're going to have to use our memories of first-year – or your second-year, I mean. You're going to have to prove they weren't tampered with. You're going to have to have _evidence_ of that. You're going to have to prove that Lucius took the Dark Mark willingly. You're going to have to prove that he hates mixed-bloods. You're going to have to prove that everything he did, he did because he _wanted_ to, not because he was under the Imperius. That's not going to be _easy, _Harry. It's going to be exhausting, and maybe almost possible – I'm sure he covered his arse well."

Severus shuddered. He could feel his left arm tingling, where the ugly disfigured tattoo was. He knew what the mark meant, could remember how the snake slithered and burned once upon a time... but refused to think of the decisions his past self had made to lead to that point.

"The diary – Voldemort wasn't back at that point," Master said. "There's proof right there that he wasn't under the-"

"It's more complicated than that. And I'm not going to burden you with legal facts right now – you're busy. I get that. You're in over your head as it is."

Mistress Ginny had certainly done her homework. Severus knew a lot about how the Wizengamot worked – he couldn't recall how he had picked up that information. However, he knew if you were going to get someone convicted of a crime they had already been cleared of, a crime worthy of Azkaban, one had to be loaded with solid evidence.

"What's this got to do with Weston, Ginny? He's not a Death Eater."

No, Master Weston had not had the black tattoo Severus had. Severus would know, as he had seen Master Weston in the nude quite frequently, quite possibly more than his wife ever had. Master Nathan also did not have the tattoo, though his fascination with Severus' had been uncomfortable – it was the only time in Severus' life he had ever had his arm groped, that he could recall.

Mistress Ginny sighed. "I can't figure out how to tell this to you without coming across as a bitch."

"Well, if the shoe fits," Master spat out, venomously.

"You're going to feel like a right arse when you realise how much you're overreacting," Mistress Ginny warned. "When Nathan wrote to me, pretty much asking me to court him so that we can someday get married and have lots of Pureblood babies, I was grossed out. Like I was with all the other letters I got, but him especially because I know his parents owned Snape."

"You don't know the half of it, Ginny. Nathan Weston's dad did not just _own_ Snape – he bloody-" Master stopped.

"But then I got to thinking how elite the Westons are, and of all the information I could dig up on the Malfoys. They have friends and go to functions, Harry, that you wouldn't believe. You know all the little Pureblood functions my family has been invited to since the fall of You-Know-Who? Well, they go to twenty times that, with forty times the people."

Severus knew that. Sometimes, the functions were held at the Weston home. Severus had been used by many men and women before Master Weston rescued him, and properly cursed those who had been caught in the act. He hadn't minded, in all honesty – they had done things what Master Weston had called the 'vanilla' way. Ways that had not been uncomfortable at all, compared to having a vibrating tools shoving up one's anus.

The numerous parties had only concreted a belief in him that Purebloods should not have arranged marriages – the sexual frustration it caused had to be terrible, if so many people resorted to a slave as unattractive as Severus.

"Parties? Like engagement parties? You hate Pureblood parties! You said so!"

Gik jumped from his arms and darted across the dark room, leaving Severus alone. He wrapped his arms around himself tightly, suddenly feeling much colder. He was alone in the dark – he could not go back to the bed by himself.

"I _do_ hate them!" Mistress Ginny said, quickly. "The clothes are uncomfortable, the conversation is stiff, they don't serve _nearly _enough food... but I find things out, Harry. I have much more evidence now, to convict Malfoy and Crabbe – and a woman that I had never heard of before. Goyle has stayed out of the limelight, so I've got to dig deeper for him..."

"Oh, well, aren't we little Sherlock Holmes?" Master laughed, bitterly. "And you want me to play Watson?"

"I don't even know who you're taking about," Mistress Ginny huffed. "I have folders, Harry – folders of information. I have names of people to use as witnesses, people for the Aurors to take memories from... I have a Pensieve – those are unbelievably hard to find, but I managed to find an old one. I need to be ready."

"This is important to me. This is as important to me as finding Snape was for you, Harry. What happened in the chamber was not a joke – it was not an 'end of the year adventure' for me like it was for you. It was a year of nightmares – I'd say a living nightmare, but I don't remember half of it. I have terrible nightmares that make me remember though. Make me remember terrible things."

"Well, putting Malfoy in prison won't fix it."

"I know that! But some justice needs to be served, Harry! Rape victims know they cannot undo the damage by putting the rapist in prison, but they need to try to do it, anyway! Killing You-Know-Who wouldn't bring your parents back, but you needed to do it, anyway!"

"That's different – he was killing other people. He was trying to-"

"-you're missing my point, Harry. Just listen to me – I need to do this. I'm not going to marry Nathan Weston. I like him, I'll admit – not in a lovey-dovey way, but he's funny. He's nice, and not too shabby looking. He's starting to emotionally mature – I can tell. He makes a great jogging partner – did you know I've begun jogging every morning?"

Master did not reply, so Mistress Ginny continued. "He gets out of Durmstrang at the end of May, and I intend to have broken up with him by them. I'm not having sex with him, and I'm not on his 'side'. Harry, I'm not ever going to have your babies, but I will always love you as a friend, as a first love – I could never be with someone you disapprove of so."

_'I will always love you as a friend, as a first love – I could never be with someone you disapprove of so.'_

Severus' heart wrenched. Tears began to fall down his cheeks. The Occlumency shields began to pressure.

He knelt down on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around himself, trying to regain composure. Master had said to not let the Occlumency shields down without him there, which had been fine, as Severus had not wanted to. But something Mistress Ginny had said hurt him, for reasons unknown to him.

"Ginny, I can't do this right now." Master said "I'm going downstairs."

"Harry!" Mistress Ginny said. "Promise you won't tell Nathan? I promise, only a couple more months, and we'll call it off."

"Yeah. Promise. But only because as much as frustrated as I am with you right now, I could never dislike you more than I dislike Nathan Weston."

Master and Mistress Ginny parted ways, the landing the door was on, empty. All of Severus' thoughts on cracking the door open, however, were gone – he just hugged himself and prayed for relief of the painful emotions that stemmed from behind the Occlumency shields, emotions he could not block like he could memories or thoughts.

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...  
****Chapter Sixty-One: **_**A Flightful Night**_


	61. A Flightful Night

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-One  
"A Flightful Night"**

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly as he laid on the sofa, listening to the wizarding radio Ron and Hermione had jointedly given him for Christmas. He had put Severus down a little bit ago, Teddy an hour previous, and was ready for some peace and quiet.

Hermione came over some weekends and kept an eye on things while Harry napped, and that was great. But sleep didn't help things much any more – a vial and a half of Dreamless Sleep helped him sleep, but not very well. He didn't have dreams or nightmares about Voldemort, but he was pretty sure he came close, with all the tossing and turning he seemed to do in his sleep.

No longer having the time to brew it himself, as he had before Teddy and Severus, he had taken to getting it sent in bulk for an apothecary. Thirty vials had used to last him two months – now it lasted him one. He considered buying it two crates at a time, as it was cheaper, but didn't, because he didn't want to tempt himself. Besides, healthcare laws did not allow anyone to buy some potions in higher quantity than one crate a month – he had a feeling Dreamless Sleep was one of those potions.

He didn't have a _problem_. Harry had seen people with potion problems – harlots in dark alleys, addicts displayed over newspapers – and he wasn't one of them. As soon as Harry's life calmed down a bit, he could stop taking the dosage he did, easy-peasy.

_You'll have to – the Ministry won't stand for it._ Harry had received his acceptance letter for the Auror Training Programme. He was due in one weeks to be physically checked out, sign some papers, and go on an initial one-night 'test' to see exactly what his battle skills were. Ron said that it was hard and exhausting, but after the Battle at Hogwarts, no sweat.

Harry wasn't worried about that. He was worried about Hermione holding things down while he was gone that night. He'd already warned Severus that things would be changing for them, and to be good for Hermione, but he didn't think that'd stop his worrying much.

George had volunteered to have Severus during the days Harry had to be at the Ministry (five days a week – it was six for everyone else, but Harry got a waiver for having a family and being 'The-Saviour-Of-Us-All' or whatever they were calling him these days). Harry wasn't so sure about that, though. He trusted George, but not Severus in a joke shop. It was a place _full_ of explosions, not something that would mix well with Severus. And while Severus would probably be fine home alone, as long as the kitty was with him, Harry was paranoid.

Harry held up the glass vial of clear liquid, watching how it sparkled in the light. Harry both loved Dreamless Sleep and hated it. He loved it because it sometimes worked perfectly, and hated it because it sometimes didn't.

"Master?" Severus broke the silence with a crack on the stairs, and his voice.

Harry nearly dropped the vial. "Shit, Severus! You scared the- hey, are you okay? What are you doing out of bed?"

Severus was standing on the bottom step of the stairs, chewing his bottom lip. He was wringing his nightshirt, which hung above his knees – his skinny pale legs looked extra long and awkward that way.

Severus _never_ left his bedroom at night. He hadn't the entire time he lived with Harry – even when he had a debilitating nightmare, he stayed in his bedroom. But that wasn't the bad part – the bad part was that Harry had apparently been so preoccupied with the damned Dreamless Sleep that he had not even heard the alarm go off when Severus crossed the threshold.

Severus kept his eyes lowered. "I apologise for intruding at such an hour, Master – if you wish for me to leave-"

"No, no, no – if you need something, you can ask." Harry stood up, but did not move closer to Severus, not wanting to crowd him. "Do you need to use the loo? Are you wet?" Severus wet the bed nearly every night, without fail. Dr. Brown blamed it on his nightmares, stress, and 'post-traumatic stress disorder'.

"No, Master." Severus continued to wring his nightshirt. "I would not bother you with something as unimportant as that."

What would be more important ? What had been Harry's next guesses – a glass of water or permission to do something – Severus wouldn't see at _that_ important, to not be able to wait until morning.

_A confession, _Harry realised. _He did something he thinks is bad, and wants to confess._

"Oh. Is there something you want to talk about?"

Severus eyed the vial in Harry hand. "Ah, yes, Master."

Harry flushed, and tucked the vial in his pocket. His fondness for the potion wasn't bad, and therefore didn't _need_ to be kept secret, but he preferred to keep it secret, anyway. Even from Severus.

"Do you know where Gik is?" Severus wanted to know. "I looked everywhere in the bedroom."

"_Your_ bedroom," Harry corrected.

"I looked everywhere in my bedroom," Severus claimed ownership to the material object, something he rarely did as he believed everything strictly belonged to Harry, his master. They were working on it.

No, Harry hadn't seen Gik. He hadn't seen her since he tucked Severus in a little while ago. She always stayed in Severus' room at night, curled on his chest or stretched out on the foot of the bed. Even though Severus' door was left cracked at night, she never left.

Had she left, however, she wouldn't have set off the alarm. She wasn't human, and only humans could set off the alarm.

_Which is why Severus didn't. He's a slave. He's supposed to be able to move in and out quietly, without being noticed. He's a house-elf, an object, as far as the wards are concerned._

_Shit. Bugger. Fuck. _Harry had been very confident in his warding, especially after Ms. Fields – from Wizarding Family Services – had checked and found them appropriate. Apparently she had not counted on this problem, either.

The alarm would – hypothetically – still go off if Teddy managed to get out of his crib and out the door, or if there was a burglar, but if Severus went out of his room – and into Teddy's – there would be no alarm.

He felt sick to his stomach. Miserable. Guilty. He had risked putting Teddy, and consequently Severus, in danger. Severus had not done anything that Harry knew of, but if he were any more or less messed up, he _could_ have. He had a haunting picture in his head of Severus standing over the crib, watching Teddy in the dark... Were Severus not devoted as he was to pleasing Harry, who knew what sort of length he might have gone to avoid baths, to seek revenge on the baby who pulled his hair and startled him?

"Master?" Severus asked. "If you would prefer your slave to go upstairs to its- my bedroom, then perhaps I-"

"No," Harry said. "I mean, yes. No – don't go. I was, um, just thinking of where Gik went."

Severus did not move from the bottom step. "Perhaps you could permit me to search Master Teddy's room. I would not wake him."

_Yeah, _or_ set off the alarm._ "You don't have to do that – kitties can be summoned pretty easily." Big things, like hippogriffs, cows, and hippopotamuses could be summoned, but they were very hard to. Living things were hard to summon in general – non-living objects were easier. Harry didn't know how to summon cows or hippos, but a kitty he could summon.

The flicker in Severus' eye was unmistakeable. "Yes, Master," he said, hoarsely.

Severus was impossible to predict, and impossible to understand. Some people had moral stances against the summoning of living things, and were petitioning to make it illegal (would never happen, Harry privately thought). They said it was animal abuse (as humans were impossible to summon), demeaning and cruel. Harry had never taken Snape for that kind of person, having moral values, but Harry supposed he had to have had _some_ sort of values.

It was a shame there was really no one alive who really knew Snape, except for, well, Severus. As he got better, Harry'd have to start accommodating for _another_ person in his house, in a way he didn't have to now. Someone with their own individual ideas, morals, space, and life. It was a bizarre thought.

"We don't _have_ to summon her, though," Harry said. "Not if you don't want to. I just don't want to wake Teddy up accidentally – let's look downstairs for her, okay?"

And so that was what they did. They looked under the furniture, and behind it. They called out her name, searching for a kitty that really didn't seem to be anywhere.

After about ten minutes, Harry was about ready to call it quits, but he couldn't. Not looking at how distraught Severus was over his missing kitty, and how desperate he was to get her back. Severus needed Gik to sleep – she was his lifeline that way.

"She could not have made it outside," Severus said, chewing his lip. "It's dark out there.":

Harry didn't remind him that kitties did not mind the dark, not like Severus did. "We'll find her. She's not downstairs – she's gotta be up. You stay down here and keep watch for her, and I'll go see if she's in Teddy's room or in my room."

He started up the stairs, but Severus' voice stopped him. "Yes, Master, however, I am not sure she wants to be found."

_Then why are we looking for her? _He turned around. Severus was busier than before wringing his nightshirt. "Pardon?"

"Perhaps she wants to be left alone..." Severus' eyes didn't leave the floor. "Perhaps she is... stressed."

_What the hell. _Kitties didn't get stressed. Or at least, Gik didn't, She went through more torment daily with Teddy and Severus than most kitties went through in the lifetime, and didn't seem to mind it. She rather seemed to like it, coming back for more when Teddy held her by her front legs.

_'It's a masochist cat'_, Harry could just hear Ginny saying, but pushed it away. He didn't want to think about her.

"Sev, what are you taking about?" Harry finally asked.

"Perhaps she needs to rest. A vacation, of sorts. I am not unaware that my company seems to be draining."

Harry felt his breath catch. "Are you taking about me or Gik?"

No answer.

"Severus, the reason I'm leaving in a couple days is because of my job," Harry stepped back down the stairs. "I'm going to be an Auror now, and save people's lives. Put the bad guys in prison. I'm going to help people. It's not a vacation."

"Yes, sir." Severus was looking at the floor, but Harry covered the pocket his Dreamless Sleep occupied, self-consciously. It was an odd compulsion, but he wasn't thinking about it.

"Severus, you're not... draining. Issues you deal with are not your fault. Don't worry about me – I can take care of myself. And Gik – she loves you. She might be busy right now, but it's not your fault."

"Yes, Master." Severus seemed sullen as he responded.

Harry sighed. "Look, is this about me leaving, or Gik, or something else?"

Again, Severus did not respond, leaving Harry to flounder.

"I love you, Severus. Like I love all my friends, I mean. You're special to me, and I'm glad you live here. You're not a burden at all – in fact, you're quite helpful. Actually-" Harry stopped before he said the next sentence. Not being sure of what Severus' upset was, he didn't want to commit to something he didn't have to.

But Severus looked up, looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish.

_He's in a sad mood because he can't find the kitty, and doesn't want her summoned, for whatever reason. He wants her, and she's not here, so he'll have to go to sleep without her for the first time in months. It doesn't take a genius to figure out, Harry._

But finishing his sentence could help. After all, Severus had asked a little while ago, and he was doing quite well of late. If anything, it would convince both Severus and Harry that there was no reason to be paranoid, that Severus could be fine without Harry for hours a day – it gave them a safety net, so if there was an emergency, Severus would be okay. It would probably make Severus happy right away, and while not lessen the severity or length of the nightmares like Gik's company did, it could at least help him get to sleep.

"Actually, you've been doing so well, why don't we work on your Animagus this week? We can practise transforming – and flying again. With my permission." They didn't need any accidents.

Severus' eyes lit up. "M-Master, I may? Not to question y-you- I was simply- I-I-I-"

"Yes," Harry answered. "Really. So why don't you go upstairs? I'll stick my head outside and check for Gik, and be up in a minute to tuck you in."

Harry waited until Severus was surely gone. "_Accio_ kitty."

Gik came out, levitating from the top of the curtain rod. She was meowing in protest as she landed in Harry's arms.

Harry glared at her as he toed her upstairs. "See what you made me do? _Oft_, you're getting heavy."

* * *

It was hours later, at three o'clock in the morning, that Harry's contemplation over the moral, practical, and sensible ended.

He crept upstairs, dismantling the temporary wards that let nothing in or or out regardless, and stole into Severus' room.

Severus was curled up in a foetal position, back towards the headboard, just as he usually slept. The covers that had been carefully tucked around him twice that night were somehow still covering him. He was breathing deeply and slowly, his usually stressed features looking nearly peaceful.

Gik, the damned kitty, was stretched out across Severus' unused pillow, displaying her white tummy.

Harry took his wand out of the pocket of his blue dressing gown. "_Accio_ slave," he whispered.

Slowly, gently, Severus was lifted from the bed. At the beckoning of Harry's wand, he moved over top Gik, off of the bed, the covers sliding off gently. The magic supporting him did not fail Severus' limbs in the slightest; Severus' breathing pattern did not change.

Harry carefully placed Severus back in the bed, covering him back up with the covers, before stealthy walking out.

Severus was classified as an object, meaning he did not apply to many spells and charms, but that fact would surely give Harry peace of mind the first time he allowed Severus to fly out of his sight.

* * *

He moved his wings quickly, so quickly in fact, he could decieve one into thinking they moved slowly. He then ceased movement, enjoying the gliding. He subconsciously lifted his tail, so that there would be less resistance against the wind.

Over the busy London streets, he spotted the Tower of London, and lowered to see the garden. He toyed with the idea of landing there briefly, for the romantic novelty it would provide, and also to see the ravens. They were not particularly social, but they did have a wicked sense of a humour.

It did not take him long to pass the Tower completely. He gave a call as he passed by, and received several answers in return. It gave him an exhilaration that he doubted he could ever properly explain to another person.

Or to a free person, at least.

He flew a long distance, but did so quickly. Master's home in Devon would take him days to fly to, but across London, not long at all. He was proud, as it was not a leisurely taken flight, but a test.

If he could deliver an order to the grocer, and return with the invoice attached to his leg, if he he could pick up a package from Master Ron, if he could return to his master outside the Leaky Cauldron, he would be able to pass his master's test.

He would then be able to deliver his master's mail for him, and would be so very useful.

Severus had been working for days to get to this point. He had had trouble transforming into the raven at first – last time he had was over a year ago, and it had gotten him into ever so much trouble. Master had bought him a book all about Animagi for Severus' fortieth birthday, as well as a perch, and several other books on other subjects – the revision had given him the confidence he needed to transform.

He had practised, under Master's watchful eye, flying around the garden. Master Teddy thought it was most amusing, and consistently asked if 'Sev'rus be birdie'. And now, finally, he was allowed to fly on top of one of the busiest cities in the world.

Severus slowed in flight, and landed on his master's outstretched arm. He was careful to not dig his claws into his master's arm.

"Wonderful!" If Severus was not mistaken, there was a tear trickling from his master's eye – it could have very well have been from the fumes and exhaust from passing cars. "You did it!"

Master's hand ran down Severus' back lightly, in a gentle pet. It was not lost on Severus the deliberateness of the gentleness. A reflection of his own thin frame, he weighed as a raven less than a kg. Most forgot when manhandling him how delicate birds' bones were.

Master did not.

"Is that a raven, Mr. Potter?" An elderly wizard asked Master. "Ravens are very intelligent."

Master looked straight into Severus' eyes. "I know," he replied, softly.

**Coming up next in _Unwell_...  
Chapter Sixty-Two: _First Full Night_**

**_A/N: _**_I accidentally printed 27 pages of "Disorder" (a story I am posting second to 'Unwell') off at the library yesterday. Was quite embarrassing, and I can only be grateful I did not accidentally print off the whole to 'Unwell' - I am afraid the library board would not have appreciated that. On the plus side, the librarian has been introduced to fanfiction. I just thought you would find that story humourous._

_Also, I created a LiveJournal. I have always been against the idea, but the need finally came (as I have accounts at AFF and HPFandom, under slightly different usernames, making confusion begin - there needs to be a place for me to record it all, even if for my own scatterbrain's sake. The username is socks4dobby1. I would love to read your journals, so let me know your usernames if you wish to share! As always, thank you, for everything._


	62. First Full Night

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Two  
"First Full Night"**

Harry darted about the house, doing everything that had been put by the wayside all week.

Not that his excuse was poor; no, between Severus working up to flying earlier in the week, Severus' small, intentionally uneventful birthday, the packing, and the careful planning, small things like making sure the toilet was clean, and the floor was swept had fallen by the wayside. Harry knew Hermione would gladly clean the house for him, but didn't want to burden her any further. He had chosen to have Teddy and Severus, not go to university or enter into the training programme straight away – he was taking advantage of his friends enough as it is.

It made him wonder if he was doing the right thing. Not being there for Teddy and Severus – he knew he was doing the right thing as far as they were concerned. As far as Teddy went, he had never questioned it. He had to have him, he _wanted_ to. He hadn't had a choice as far as Severus was concerned, _really_, but didn't regret it, though it changed his life and made it... not what he'd thought it'd be. Putting Teddy into childcare during the day, and leaving Severus home alone with Gik shouldn't make him feel guilty, should it? As far as Severus was concerned, was it too soon? Too selfish? Thinking those thoughts was an indication that it was, wasn't it?

Or, he could be like Ron said, and thinking too deep into things, letting everything affect him personally. He was probably right.

"Master." Severus placed the last dish in the cupboard, washed from their recently eaten lunch. "Would you like me to go upstairs and get your trunk? Mistress Hermione is due to be here soon."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair as he rescanned the list her was leaving for Hermione. "Nah, that's okay – I'll summon it." He had gotten really good at summoning that week. He had never used it again on Severus, but practising it on other large objects hadn't hurt.

"Yes, sir. Is there something else that you would like for me to do?" Harry didn't allow Severus to clean without permission because he didn't want to take advantage of him, and also feared a natural disaster.

"No thanks, Severus – thanks for doing the dish- don't answer the door!" Harry ran over to the door and opened it, welcoming Hermione and her infamous bag into their small home.

"Hello, Harry, Severus – Teddy!" Hermione enthusiastically swung the child into the air. "Are you ready to stay with Auntie Hermione while Harry goes away?"

"Daddy," Harry corrected. For some reason, he flushed. "Um, I'm trying to get him to call me 'Daddy' now. Angela thought it'd be a good idea." He didn't mention to her, not in front of Severus, how Teddy had called Harry 'Master' the other day, no doubt learned from watching Severus.

Hermione nodded, not making a deal over it like Harry had thought she might. "Oh, we're going to have so much fun! I brought toys, and biscuits- and Crookshanks!"

The orange beast leapt out of her bag.

"Hermione, you didn't have to," Harry protested against the toys, which Teddy had enough of.

"I wanted to, Harry Potter." Hermione sat Teddy down. "I've no brothers or sisters, so let me spoil my first and potentially only nephew, for a good while – unless you get Angela knocked up. God, take the fun out of it."

Harry knew she was just kidding, but found it wise not to mention that once – and 'once', not 'if', as far as he was concerned – she married Ron, she'd have plenty of siblings, anyway.

"How are you, Severus?" Hermione asked Severus, who was kneeling in greeting. "I'm so excited to spend time with you, too – we're going to have so much fun."

Harry was busy, but not too busy to notice the way Severus' eyes widened in alarm. He noticed that, before turning to Hermione.

"Okay, Hermione – everything you need to know is on this list." Harry handed her a long piece of parchment. "Um, we're almost out of nutritive potion, but I've ordered some more, and it should fly in tonight. There's enough here to last, anyway. Now, put an inch in Severus' glass every meal – Teddy can't have any. Um, Teddy goes to sleep at eight and Severus no later than ten – and I mean in bed, not getting ready. We had sandwiches for lunch, but just about anything for dinner... oh! And Teddy is really into a kitty nose to match the whiskers, so if you find time to practise 'boy nose' with him, it'd be great. And if you need anything, you can get a hold of me by-"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted. "Is this all on the list?"

Harry had put everything on the list. "Um, yeah?"

"Then I've got it. Go and work hard – I hope you didn't eat too many sandwiches, because Ron says they'll work you tonight until you throw up."

That didn't sound pleasant. "Okay, thanks – Severus, come here." Harry sat down on the stairs.

Severus, still kneeling, came over to harry on his knees. Harry was used to the sound of Severus' knees crackling, sounding painful.

"Okay, I've got to get ready to leave now," Harry reached out and combed his fingers through Severus' hair, mindful to stay away from his forehead. "Listen to Hermione, 'kay?"

"Yes, master," Severus quietly said.

Harry tilted Severus' head so that he looked at him, ignoring Severus' flinching. "I've going to miss you – I know it's only for one night, though." It wasn't quite true – Harry did love Severus, but _miss_ was a strong word for being gone twenty-four hours. It would be weird being apart from Severus and Teddy, though – they hardly ever left each others company, and he felt guilty thinking of it as a 'break' from the two, especially since his 'break' consisted of dodging _Stupefy _all night.

"You're just as safe here with Hermione as you are with me. No one is going to hurt you – we like you. You're our friend. It's okay." Harry couldn't tell if Severus believed him or not – lately, telling him 'it's okay' had not been having the effect it used to.

Harry stood, picking up Teddy. "I love you, Ted – be good. Don't turn into a fish while I'm gone." He turned to Hermione. "None of the toys you have for him have fishes on them, do they?"

He kissed Teddy, sitting him down, and as an afterthought, kissed the top of Severus' head, too. He summoned his trunk. "Well, I guess this is it, then."

Hermione smiled. "It is. Good luck."

Harry smiled back. "Bye, guys!" He took a couple steps out onto the verandah, savouring his new found freedom.

And then he Disapparated, for his initiation into the Auror Training Programme.

* * *

Severus could not help but grin as all green sides to the Rubik's cube lined up... and then frown, because he had no one to share the joy with.

He glanced up at Mistress Hermione, who was sitting on the sofas reading a heavy textbook, and at Master Teddy's vacant playpen, as he had gone to bed. Master would have been happy to hear the news, but Severus doubted Mistress Hermione would feel the same way.

"Gik, one side is green," Severus shared with the cat, who had just stepped into the room. Severus' voice sounded unusually loud.

"Congratulations!" Mistress Hermione put aside her book. "Those are hard puzzles to solve – the geometry involved! It took me six months to solve mine, when I was nine."

Master had always said that Severus was intelligent, but Master was not always right. Severus was inclined to think his master was correct in this case, and found the idea that Mistress Hermione might be more intelligent infuriating, though like a good slave, he kept this fury to himself.

"It's nine-thirty, about time to get ready for bed?" Mistress Hermione suggested.

Master always began at nine-forty. The bath and other hygiene took fifteen minutes, and there was another five minutes to change, find Gik, and be tucked in. However, Severus was not sure Mistress Hermione would be able to work that speedily, so he nodded.

Mistress Hermione consulted The List, as she had all day. "All right, so toilet, shave, teeth, bath?" She asked.

"Toilet, bath, shave, teeth." It was not an improper correction, as not only had she asked, but she did not own him. It felt good to know something she didn't. "The warm water softens the whiskers, making them easier to cut."

_And so she sees the light, _Severus thought as Mistress Hermione visibly understood.

"Oh, okay. So you go in there and use the toilet - I'll be in there in a moment."

Severus paused. "By myself, miss?" Slaves were typically not allowed privacy, but most owners did not _work_ to make it so. Many slaves were not permitted to close the door when they used the toilet, to show their place, not because their owner derived pleasure from it. Master went as far as to accompany Severus to the toilet, but not for any of those reasons. He accompanied him because he cared about Severus, and thought the bathroom was the most terrifying place in the house for Severus.

And though he did not fear the bathroom itself, simply the tub, he supposed it was his least favourite room, save Master's bedroom, which Severus had never seen. An owner's bedroom was to always be avoided unless 'the good little slut' likes it, truly.

Severus gasped. If masters were not always right, then that naughty recurring thought Severus had had while belonging to the Westons was true – he had _not_ enjoyed it. He was not to argue, but to know might have spared him confusions as to why he liked the latex he was always allergic to.

The realisation caused his stomach to turn, bile to fill his throat, but he was not sure why. Nothing had really changed in the situation – he had been used multiple times by Master and Mistress Weston. Whether he had liked it or not, he hadn't had a choice in the matter. It made no sense for him to feel sickened now, and not before.

"Are you all right?" Mistress Hermione asked. At Severus' nod, she continued their exchange. "If normally Harry goes with you, I'll go. I just thought you might want a bit of... privacy."

"No mistress, I would not." He was not terrified of using the toilet, though would most certainly not wash his hands if Master or Mistress Hermione were not looking. But he did not want to go in alone for the sake of privacy – privacy would mean he was no longer a slave, and then what would he be?

Mistress Hermione followed Severus into the bathroom.

"My nightshirt is kept in the cupboard with the towels, as are my robes," Severus explained, pulling his robes off, freeing his body of the warm friction of skin and cloth. "Master usually puts a cleaning charm on my robes, or puts them in the wash pile to get to later." Severus did not have a wand, or he would help his master with the laundry.

Mistress Hermione reddened noticeably as she took Severus robes from him and set them aside. She busied herself then with running the water from the tap, deliberately not looking at Severus' parts that men who had a choice typically kept private.

Severus did not have a choice, and he quite frankly did not care. He had grown more comfortable without clothes than with, and knew that since he was not his own, there was no need for embarrassment at being seen in that state. There was no need to feel ashamed for his owners, either, because although flaccid, the length of the organ was nothing to sneeze at.

Severus pulled the chain that flushed the toilet between looking uncertainly between the tub and Mistress Hermione. Master always helped Severus into the tub, and though the girl was about Master's height, she did not appear to be as strong. Was leaning on her for support even an option?

Suddenly, Severus' heart became overwhelmed with the absence of his master.

* * *

"I still don't understand the point of shaving at night," Mistress Hermione folded the covers back.

Severus crawled into the bed, holding the tissue over the largest of cuts Mistress Hermione had inadvertently left with the metal razor. "Because I am not bathed in the morning, it is much easier to do it at night," he paused. "And Master does not want it to develop growth, because it itches, and is harder to take care of." Severus had explained more common knowledge to the young girl in the past half hour than he had ever dreamed. Much he assumed she would have known from being with a man, as he could tell she had. Master Ron, no doubt.

"All right – bath, toilet, teeth, shave-" Mistress Hermione dropped Gik onto the bed, "-Gik. Anything else?"

Severus gathered his friend into his arms. Y_es. Sit down on the edge of the bed, and babble. Then hold my hand, and smile. Dim the lights, and say 'goodnight, Severus – I love you'. Leave the door cracked._

"No, Mistress," he responded.

"All right, then." Mistress Hermione dimmed the lights with her wand. "Goodnight, Severus." she left, shutting the door behind her.

She didn't leave it open a crack.

* * *

_He screamed as the lashes fell upon his back. One, two, three, four, they left ugly, raised, criss-crossed scars across his back._

"_You can't hurt me!" He yelled. He tried to scramble away and escape, but found that he couldn't move._

"_Oh, but I can," a man chuckled behind him, as the terrible plain continued._

"_You can't! You're dead!"_

_Somehow, even without seeing the man behind the pain, he knew he had thin white skin and red slits for eyes. He knew who it was._

_Another chuckle. "Physically, yes, but my memory is still alive, all around you. Through my deeds, I have achieved immortality. No one will forget what I have achieved, what I have caused. At the very least, you never will."_

_An anguished scream filled the room._

Harry Potter sat up in bed, still screaming. He used his wand to bring light to his bedroom, as the windows were covered with heavy drapes to block out the sunlight.

It was a dream. A terrible dream. A nightmare. A nightmare, no doubt stemming from his exhausting night and seeing Severus' marred body, daily.

"Voldemort is dead," Harry felt the need to say out loud. "He is. They are just dreams. Just nightmares. They aren't real."

But what dream-Voldemort was saying was very true. Although Voldemort had been trying to achieve physical immortality and had failed, he was still very much alive in the memories of many, especially those who had encountered him in person. He was still wreaking havoc in Harry's life, and the lives of many others, even though he was dead. Undeniably dead. There was absolutely no way to ever bring him back in physical form – Hermione had triple-checked.

Harry sighed, and settled back into bed. Hermione had been very kind and offered to stay a couple hours extra, so that Harry could sleep after an intense, hard-working night. He had readily agreed, and hadn't even taken any Dreamless Sleep, thinking he was too tired for insomnia, too tired to dream.

He had been wrong about the dreams.

Voldemort was dead, but his cause was still alive in the hearts of many Purebloods. The pain he had caused was still coursing through many; those who had lost family and friends, the surviving Death Eaters thrown into slavery, and everyone else's lives he had touched.

But out of all the people still reeling in the nightmarish pain, Harry was (perhaps selfishly) inclined inclined to think that it hurt him and Severus Snape most.

**Coming up next in _Unwell_...  
Chapter Sixty-Three: _A Run_**

**_A/N: _**_I cannot believe I did this, and my apologies to all; in the previous chapter, I had said "Severus was classified as an object, meaning he did not apply to many spells and charms, but that fact would surely give Severus peace of mind the first time he allowed Severus to fly out of his sight". It was meant to say "give Harry peace of mind". That set off an entirely different meaning that I intended to set off, and so I apologise to you all. It is fixed. Thank you to Avid Anon for making me realise my mistake, and thank you to everyone, for reading._


	63. The Run

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

**Chapter Sixty-Three  
"A Run"**

Paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork. Being an Auror wasn't defence, dodging, Dark, and danger – it was a sodding desk job!

A lot of paperwork went into the Auror Programme and Department. Dissertations and reports were required on everything and anything, and they had to write them. A massive amount of them. Harry never thought he'd wish for a Quick Quotes Quill, but he did.

"Do you have a hand cramp?" The instructor passed his desk. "Cast a spell! Work through it! You think this is hard? Try having bunions – that's hard!"

Harry had been in the Auror Training Programme for only a fortnight, and he wanted to quit. He couldn't imagine what had possessed him to want to become an Auror. He couldn't remember Tonks or Moody relaying any stories of paperwork – they had made it sound all like raids and battles! Raids and battles, Harry was good at, but he had never gotten a good solid 'O' on any papers he had ever written at Hogwarts. If being an Auror required a good grip on English spelling and grammar, he would make a better rubbish man.

Ron had assured him it got better – he hoped so. He could not quit, mainly because he was stubborn. However, he also believed in the cause, and though he wasn't cocky like Snape said he was, he was confident in his abilities and fighting skills, and really thought he could help change the Auror Programme and Department for the better.

Things would have been much better if he did not have to worry so much – Teddy went to childcare from eight to four, and then went to the Burrow until six, when Harry picked him up. Severus stayed home alone with Gik – that was what had Harry worried so much. Teddy was fine, as long as there was someone there to watch him, keep him from licking windows and knocking other children down, as long as he was in an environment where he was free to have pink hair and rabbit ears. Severus… not so much.

Before Harry left each morning, he made Severus a sandwich for lunch, gave him something to work on, something to entertain himself, and gave him a kiss on the head (never the forehead). That morning, he had asked Severus to sweep the hearth, and gave him a jigsaw puzzle. He would not be surprised if both were complete by this evening. It made him feel stupid to admit, but he missed both Teddy and Severus now that he did not see him all day, every day. It made him feel bad, to potentially miss some of Teddy's eighteen-month milestones, and to not be there to hold Severus when he needed it. He knew all parents felt the same as he felt in the situation with Teddy, but what of Severus? Was Harry wrong by starting a career he didn't strictly need, leaving Severus alone when he needed him – especially after he spent so long teaching Severus to depend on him? On the other hand, was it good to try to incorporate some self-reliance into his life? If it was good, was it too soon? Would they ever find a balance in that?

He glanced at the instructor, who was now lecturing them on Auror proceedings, and preparing them for a test on it. She had caught him in the act four times so far, dashing notes to Severus, and had warned him this last time that there would be hell to pay if she caught him again. Harry knew she hadn't cut him the slack she had because she wanted to, but because her supervisor insisted on her being good to The-Saviour-of-the-World. He believed her on the 'hell to pay' part – it was why he had to be sneaky.

He pulled a scrap of parchment out of the desk, and made out that he was taking notes on what she was saying. In reality, he was scribbling a note to Severus, as he did quite often.

_Severus,_

_Don't forget to use the loo when you need to. Fly to me if you need to._

_I love you!_

_HP_

He made the mistake of adding 'smile' at the end of a note once, and had come home to a beaming Severus with extremely strained facial muscles. 'I love you' was the preferred alternative – he did love Severus, and it left little room for confusion.

The note was snatched out his hands, tearing slightly.

"An Auror never lets herself be snuck up upon like that! Mr. Potter, if I were a Bicorn, you would be dead right now."

_Bicorns eat flesh. Technically, you would still be gnawing my shoulder._

"Let's see – a note to your girlfriend, perhaps, Potter?" the instructor pursed her lips. "Is the Auror Training Programme so boring that you wanted to write your little bird all about it?"

Harry swiped at his forehead, trying to quell his annoyance. "No - can I have that back, please?"

"'Severus,'" the instructor read his note for all the class to hear in a mocking unnaturally high-pitched voice, "don't forget to use the loo when you need to." She passed as the other trainees laughed. "Fly to me if you need to. I love you, Harry Potter'. Aw, isn't that sweet? Mr. Potter is writing a letter to his _boyfriend_," she paused as more laughter came in, "reminding him to use the _loo_."

"I have a _girlfriend_, and Severus isn't her," Harry protested amidst the laughter, feeling quite like classroom settings were the same everywhere – primary school, Hogwarts, uni, or Ministry programmes. "He's my slave, and has some emotional problems. I left in a hurry this morning to get my god- to get my son off to childcare, and I forgot to tell Severus, I think, to use the loo." He felt himself crimson not at what he was saying, but at all the attention he was getting for it.

The instructor had a thin-lipped, satisfied smile on her face that made Harry feel frustrated enough to kick a granny down a flight of stairs.

"Can I have my note back, please?" Harry said through gritted teeth.

"It's 'May I', Potter, and no, you may not!" She snapped. "You may, however, run to the ground floor – no using the lift! – And find your way to the track. Twenty-three consecutive laps, Potter! One lap for each word written without permission! And then you may go home – if you are not going to learn and take this career seriously, you do not need to be here!"

Harry gaped. Twenty-three laps? He had run four laps every morning, at varying paces, since the beginning of the Training Programme, so to not be completely unfit when physical exercise took the place of paperwork. He knew that track – it was a four hundred meter track. Twenty-three laps, consecutively, meant many meters... without rest.

"Um, can I have my note back, then?"

Harry was lucky he did not find himself facing a terrible hex.

* * *

Harry jogged down the isolated Ministry stairs, stairs that were only there because of protocol, not because anyone actually used them. He was lucky he was going down, not up, at least.

He paused before the last flight to fix a few things – his glasses went in his pocket, a bucket hat went on his head. If he had time and a mirror, he would have attempted to change his hair to a less noticeable colour, like dishwater blond. However, since he did not have time, a mirror, or the energy to waste, his appearance would have to stay as it was.

They did not all have Teddy's self-transfiguration abilities.

He opened the stairwell door, and tried his best to blend in with the people on the ground floor. There were a lot of them – the Ministry for Magic was a busy place.

He could make out a blur of photographers up ahead, but did not deter from them – they would expect that.

The photographers took pictures of Harry and asked him invasive questions everywhere he went – an American-based gossiping rag, Fleur told Harry, had a regular column called 'Following Harry Potter' that the photographers sold photos to. Every magazine in England was full of photos of Harry, complete with pretend quotes of how he was dating Princess Diana's ghost.

He tried to avoid them, so he went out of his way to do so. Taking off his glasses helped, even though it made things blurry.

When he reached the enclosed track, he took off his hat and coat, put on his glasses, and broke into a steady run. His frustration and worry gave him energy to do so, because he had only gotten three hours of sleep the night before. Angela had explained to him about sleep debt, and how to get out of it, but he had been too tired to listen.

Moreover, if she had really cared about helping him get out of his sleep debt, she could have offered to come over in the mornings to dress and feed Teddy, so Harry could sleep an extra half hour.

He lost track of how many times he had run around the track. It might have been three times, it might have been eight, and it probably was not twenty-three. He just ran.

"Oi!" Harry Potter!" a voice called him.

He did not stop. It wasn't Severus' deep voice, or the voices of Teddy, Ron, or Hermione. He didn't need to stop.

He could hear someone else on the track now. The sounds of pounding footsteps. Or maybe that was just his heart. He had never run too many laps at a time before.

"God, Harry – you need to slow down or you'll be winded before you know it."

It was Nathan Weston.

Harry pushed himself faster, just to spite Nathan. It irked him when Nathan sped up to match his pace.

"I went into the room where they were teaching their trainees, and the lady said you'd gone to run laps." The bastard didn't even break a sweat. "Can't blame you – it's a nice track. Most indoor tracks aren't circular like this."

Harry was the king of small talk. He used it all the time when talking to Severus, getting no response up until recently .He didn't mind it, either, if the time and place was appropriate.

Harry was at what was considered his job, running laps. That was not a good place or time at all.

"I wanted to talk to you about Ginny," Nathan said, as if they pace they were running made it easy to talk. "I know you used to date her and gave issues with me doing it, so-"

"I-I don't- I don't want to- to talk about – Gin-Ginny." Harry said in between breaths.

Nathan slowed pace. "Slow down – it's not a race. A good runner runs at a pace so that he can still talk."

Harry glared, but did slow down a bit, and after a few minutes of silent slower pace, felt that he could talk better. It pissed him off that Nathan was right. "I don't want – to talk about – about Ginny."

"Look, it's only natural for a bloke to be jealous. When my last fiancée started seeing someone else, it was tough."

Nathan was what? Seventeen, maybe? How could he already have had a fiancée?"

"Your _last_ fiancée?" Harry tried to sound casual.

"Sex change," Nathan said. "She turned of age and could get one. Her parents – and mine – were pissed."

"You weren't?"

"Nah. I figured she – or he – would. It mostly just stung. I had another fiancée – Natasha – who died when we were five. Fell off her broomstick."

Harry had ridden a kiddie-broomstick once – he had seen a picture. However, no one could die if one fell off it; they barely hovered above the ground. "A real broomstick? How did the fall kill her?"

Nathan looked at him strangely. "She landed on a spike."

"Anyway, I don't intend for Ginny to become another in a line of fiancées – It's all my father's idea. He wants me to marry her not only for Pureblood reasons, but also for society. If I married a Harry Potter's ex-girlfriend, or his best friend's sister, it'd be like marrying into fucking royalty, man."

Harry stopped. "You're engaged?"

"No – keep running. I can't ask her to marry me – I know she'd say 'no'."

_She probably would say 'no',_ Harry hoped. "Then why date her?"

"Because Father insists. And I like her, Harry – I do. I would like to marry her, but that is not going to happen. I just don't want you of all people to be mad if I break her heart – you might hex me into next week." Nathan offered a small grin.

The exhausted feeling was leaving Harry. In its place, he felt exhilarated. His legs no longer felt like dead weights, but seem to move on their own accord.

"I don't think you're going to break her heart," he said.

"Really?" Nathan sounded surprised. "You mean, you think she wants to marry me?"

_No – I think she's going to crush yours. _It would have sounded mean to say, but Harry wasn't saying it, was he?

"Um... no, I didn't mean that. It's just that, well, if you don't ask her, you can't break your heart, can you?" He silently congratulated himself on the save.

* * *

It was late when Harry finally got some time to himself that night, but as the runner's high had worn off hours ago, he was too tired to enjoy that time. He fancied a small glass of Firewhiskey followed by three vials of Dreamless sleep, and then his cosy bed.

He let his eyes graze over the mail for anything of interest. Severus did not fly to get the mail as owls did, simply because it was too far for him to travel – an owl from the post office delivered it instead.

He found interest in a brochure for Bruno's Hospital and Wellness Centre for the Mentally Incurable and Insane.

_McGonagall_, he bitterly thought, dropping the brochure into the rubbish bin. He knew Severus had probably seen it. He hoped Severus hadn't thought he had been the one to send for it.

He glanced over to the stairs, knowing Severus was still awake, by the murmurs between him and Gik. Not that Gik could murmur – oh, bloody hell, he was tired.

Harry made his way back up the stairs and into Severus' room. "Severus?" He said, poking his head in. "Can I come in?"

Severus sat up, Gik falling off his chest onto his lap. "Master?" He bowed his head deeply. "Of course, Master – it is your home."

Harry settled into the chair next to Severus' bed. "I just thought I should come up again so that we could... talk."

Severus straightened, and gathered Gik into his arms again. "Yes, Master. Have I done something..." he hesitated, "wrong?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I was just wondering if, after the owl delivered our mail today, if you saw it." He knew Severus avoided the mail owl like the plague.

Severus' eyes fell to his lap. "Yes, Master," he whispered.

Harry had been hoping for more of an answer than that. "The brochure?"

"St. Bruno's Hospital and Wellness Centre for the Mentally Incurable and Insane." Severus had remembered the long name off the brochure. "I assume it regards me."

Harry took a deep breath. "Yeah, well, it made me angry to see it. Whoever sent it to us was very insensitive to our feelings – you're not insane, Severus, at all."

Severus sniffed. "Mentally... mentally incurable?"

"No." Harry reached out and grabbed Severus' hand, squeezing it in what he hoped was a comforting way. "Mentally _confused_. Emotionally confused. But that's okay –you've been through a lot."

Silence. Then, "I wish to be perfect for you, Master."

"I know." Harry let go of Severus' hand, and began scratching his back. "And you are. I do not expect you to be perfect – you are still a person. A slave, yeah, but still a person. You have flaws, but I still love you. People love people, and most people do have flaws."

"And it's not your fault, the way you are; do you remember Nigel Mering?"

Visibly, Severus shuddered. "Yes, Master."

"I think the slave training he put you through is what messed with your head some," Harry said. "He told you things, made you believe things that maybe weren't true?"

Severus began to cry – Harry hadn't wanted that. "Yes, Master."

_Is he admitting Mering was wrong, or just agreeing with me?_ "I don't need a slave, Severus. I do not need my house cleaned, or a sex slave, or a living thing to torture. I need you to be you, whoever that way. Is."

Severus was crying very hard now. "I-I-I-I-I-I-I do not know how," he whinged.

"We'll learn," Harry softly said. "Sssh –don't take down your Occlumency shields just now. It's okay – I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

In attempt to comfort Severus, he helped is lay down and tucked him in. "Deep breaths, Severus." He tucked the blankets around him. "I wasn't meaning to upset you."

Severus' teeth began chattering. "I-I apologise, M-Master. I-I-I- Please punish me however you see fit. J-J-J-Just-"

Harry reached over and laid his hand over Severus' forehead, the way he had seen Aunt Petunia do to Dudley many times. It was very warm – was he running a temperature?

Severus stopped chattering when Harry touched him. The tears still fell, however, as Severus began bunting his head against Harry's hand, involuntarily, much like Gik did if you pet her. Only her actions were voluntary, of course.

Shit. Harry removed his hand, and the chattering continued. "Do you, um, have an erection, Severus?"

"N-N-N-, Master – you did not touch me down there." Severus chattered. His voice broke as he asked the next sentence. "Would you like me to have one?"

"No, no – just checking. Look – I think you have a fever. I can't check for sure without using my wand, and I don't think I have a potion for it..." He tried desperately to remember what he had learned in Potions. There was something about nutritive potions and fevers. Something... but he was coming up blank. Snape had droned on about it for seemingly forever, and Harry had retained none of it.

"Severus – nutritive potions and fevers – do you know anything about them?"

"N-Nu-Nutritive potions build a re-resistance against illness. It con-contains antibodies, if you will. That can-can lower the imm-immune system's defences against m-m-more serious ill-illnesses." Severus sounded as if he were quoting a textbook – he probably was.

_Oh, so in trying to keep you healthy, I made you sick._ "Oh, so the ideal thing to do would be to...?"

"Let the illness run its c-c-course, and lessen the quantity and Nu-Nutritive potions taken in the future."

Harry felt all fantasies of sleep for himself disappear just that quick. "Oh. Well, in that case, I'll bring up a cool washcloth. Be right back."

On his way past the sofa, he gathered up a throw blanket. He had a feeling that he was in for the long haul.

* * *

Harry shifted slightly on the sofa, trying to get into a more comfortable position. With both Teddy and Severus sleeping on top of him, there was no way he would be able to get to the loo without waking them up.

By midnight, Severus' fever had reached a terrible high – Harry hadn't been sure whether to cave and give him a potion, or rush him to St. Mungos. With his owl replacement being the one sick, he could not very well send an owl to Hermione.

By one, Teddy had woken up screaming bloody murder. The parenting books Harry had read parts of, per Angela's suggestion, had said to let him cry it out, but Harry couldn't make himself do that. All he could think about as Teddy cried was how Aunt Petunia probably let him scream and cry in his cupboard all night.

Teddy had a temperature too, which complicated things a bit more. Did kids have potions just as Muggle kids had their own medicines? Was he supposed to give some to Teddy? He didn't have any fever-reducing potions, anyway – he'd have to go, or send someone else, to the apothecary... which probably was not open at night.

Teddy wasn't content to sit on Harry's lap with a cool cloth and some juice, so Harry had finally moved the party of four – Harry, Severus, Teddy, and Gik - downstairs. Once he had them settled on the sofa, he Flooed Hermione, hoping she wasn't having another late night study session with friends from university.

She had not been. But she hadn't heard Harry call from the Floo, either. The sounds from her bedroom had indicated that she was quite preoccupied, so Harry had entered, left a note on the table, tripped over hastily thrown clothes on the floor of the cramped flat, and re-entered his home.

Gik was resting on the arm of the sofa, keeping Harry's head warm. Teddy had at last fallen asleep a top of Harry, his head nestled in the crook of Harry's neck. Severus had been kneeling on the floor, resting his head on Harry's chest. Between rubbing Teddy's back and combing through Severus' hair, he had been up all night, soothing one or the other.

And he was exhausted.

The sound of the fireplace indicated that someone had come through, but there was no point in sitting up to see who it was – only a handful of people come could through his Floo. There was no point in waking either of Harry's patients.

It was Ron and Hermione. Hermione was wrapping her dressing gown around herself, and her hair was messier than he had ever seen it, which was quite a feat. Ron was unshaven and shirtless, his trousers wrinkled.

"Hullo," Harry fanned his fingers out in greeting. "Care to join us, procreating couple? I'm sure there is space for the two of you to squeeze in. One big, fun, cosy pile. '_There's five in the bed and the little-'_no, no._ 'There's five in the bed and Teddy said_-'. He stopped singing the children's song, realising how insane he was sounding.

"Wrong notes, mate." Ron ran his fingers through his hair.

"Harry, I just got your message. Why didn't you-"

Harry put his finger to his lips. "You'll wake them up."

Hermione pulled identical vials from her pocket, setting them on the coffee table. "Half an inch for Teddy, two inches for Severus. Once a day, for three days. Save the rest for next time."

Oh, how nice of her. "I think Teddy got it at childcare. Severus hadn't left the house and-"

"Anyone can spread most contagious diseases, Harry, even if they don't have it themselves." Hermione bent down and carefully picked Teddy up without waking him, placing him over her shoulder. "He feels like his fever's broke, though."

Alarm entered Harry's fatigued brain. "Broke?"

"Gone." Hermione handed the sleeping baby off to Ron. "That doesn't mean he's not still sick, though. Let me go make you some tea."

"Wait!" Harry hadn't taken Severus' temperature in awhile. "Can you feel his forehead for me? I can't feel it, or-"

Hermione touched Severus' forehead. "He's not burning, but he's warm. Has he been drinking lots of fluids?"

"Um... no," Harry guiltily said. "But he didn't pee all over the floor or bed last night," he brightly added.

Ron snorted. "Always the optimist."

Hermione sighed. "I'll make a whole round of tea then." She left.

Severus was asleep. He couldn't drink tea and sleep at the same time, and Harry sure as hell was not about to wake him.

"Hey, do you need a shirt or some robes?" He asked Ron, who held a sleeping baby rather expertly for being one of the youngest of his family.

"Yeah, but yours won't fit, and they can only be lengthened and widened so much," Ron smirked. "I'm fine."

"I'll bet – how come it is that we both got so little sleep, and you're so much more awake?" Harry complained.

"I got sleep, in between-"

Harry was sure he didn't want to know. He found the subject of breasts mildly entertaining, but not the subject of Hermione's breasts.

Or Hermione's anything else, for that matter.

Hermione levitated four mugs of tea in. "Oh, for goodness' sake, Harry – don't let Severus sleep on his knees like that! After the age of forty, men have a-"

Oops. Severus was forty, not that it would have been okay a few weeks ago. "Ugh, okay, Sev – you're going to have to move." He sat up, hoping to somehow levitate Severus onto the sofa without waking him up, but Severus opened his eyes.

"Master?" Severus croaked. He didn't bow – he was already kneeling, after all.

"Hey." Harry smiled. "Let's get you on the sofa – you'll feel better once we get some tea in you."

He helped Severus up into the sofa slowly, wincing at the sound of Severus' creaking bones, before sitting next to him.

He handed Severus a mug of tea while arranging a blanket over their laps. "Better, yeah?"

"Yes, Master."

Hermione tried to put two inches of potion into Severus' mug, but he shied away. "Thank you, Mistress, but my master and I agreed that I should fight this one off without magical aid. I have been given too much of a good thing, we suspect."

"Nutritive potion," Harry elaborated.

Hermione and Ron spent several more minutes taking care of them, and seeing that they were well, before leaving. Not to go have sex this time, so that Harry could get a hold of them if need be.

"If you're feeling up to it tomorrow, come by my place at six," Hermione said before leaving. "Both of you – and Angela. We'll hang out – nothing explosive, I promise."

Of course not. With Hermione, you had a good time, but not an _explosive_ time. "Sorry, but I think we're going to have to pass," Harry said, thinking about how sore his muscles felt from the previous day's running and lack of sleep, and how much energy it would require for both him and Severus to leave the house. "Thanks – for everything."

It was only after they left that Severus made more conversation. "I apologise for how I behaved last night, Master."

_For what? Being sick? Blubbering for six hours straight? Screaming in delirium every time Teddy was asleep?_ "It's okay – I forgive you."

Severus looked down at Teddy, who was sleeping across their laps. "I am happy Master Teddy is feeling better."

Harry saw a window of opportunity – things were calm, Teddy was asleep. The only problem was that they were overly exhausted and sick – what could go wrong?

"Me too. You know, you can just call him 'Teddy' if you want. He's not even two – he doesn't own you," Harry tried.

Severus bit his lip. "That-That would consequently apply t-to many p-people then, Master?"

How Harry hoped Severus would call them all by their plain first names. If Snape came back, Harry'd miss Severus, but being called 'master', not so much.

"Whatever you're comfortable with. I think you should call him whatever you think is best. Just remember that he's little and very impressionable. Whatever you choose to call him may stick for life."

Having that sort of responsibility did not seem to sit well with Severus. "Then perhaps I should call him 'Ted', as he will no doubt wish to be called that at an older age."

Harry didn't snort, only to not undermine Severus' thoughts. "Good idea. Everyone else still calls him 'Teddy' though, so it makes no difference if you say it."

Severus looked at Teddy's small frame for a long time. "Is Master sure he does not mind?"

Harry did not think Teddy cared, so he hoped _he_ was the 'he'. "I don't."

Severus nodded. "I will try 'Teddy', then."

Harry smiled. For the average person, calling Teddy by his name was a small step. However, it was a giant step for them.

_Mentally incurable, my arse._

**Coming soon in **_**Unwell...**_  
**Chapter Sixty-Four: ****currently untitled**


	64. Bits and Parts

**_Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._**

**Chapter Sixty-Four  
**"**Bits and Parts"**

Severus smoothed the dirt over the base of the plant, pressing down firmly, though not hard – it would do little good to smash the roots.

He was working in the kitchen garden with Master, which was most bizarre as it was February. Plants, left to their own devices, would wither in the cold weather.

However, they were not really being left to their own devices, were they? Master had charmed each plant and the surrounding soil to be a temperature appropriate for the plant's natural climate. Which was quite good, as Severus was not sure if it was possible to grow that particular type of fruit in England, naturally, even in the heat of summer.

Like the plants, Severus was also quite warm due to Master's warming charms. Master rarely pointed his wand at Severus, and then it was only to put consensually put a charm on him, or to aid him in some fashion.

'Consensually' . . . What an odd word to use for someone of Severus' status.

"Oh, shit!" Master had lit one of the plants on fire. "Oh God – oh! _Aqua Erecto_!"

The water did not touch Severus, so he was quite fine watching the makeshift kitchen garden flood. Master would have been better off using _Aguamenti_, as the stream of water was less bold, but it was too late to give advice, and inappropriate, as it had not been asked for.

Severus began to watch the wizards and witches around him with jealousy. They had wands to employ, so to defend themselves, to accomplish tasks, and even enjoy themselves with (judging by the awkward handling between Master and Mistress D'Angelo last week that Severus had accidentally witnessed). Wands did terrible things, like torture, kill, and violate, but they also did good things, like heat, protect, and make fun. They created loud things like fireworks, but always enabled silencing charms.

Severus' wand was gone. Disappeared. Missing in action. Vanished. He had not seen it since Master sold him to the Monster. Most wizards would have been distraught over losing such a thing, but Severus was a slave first and a wizard second – he had been far more concerned over losing his beloved Master Weston than the transaction of his wand.

Though, now that the pain had worn off, Severus really did wish he knew what had happened to his wand. It was possible that the Monster had broken it, or resold it. It was also likely that the Monster had shoved it partway down his throat or up his bum. But afterwards, what had happened to it? Had it been left at the Monster's, or did it manage to get with him to Master Müller's? Severus did not care if the wand had been used to torture him – he wanted access to it again.

With a wand, Severus would be able to get many household chores done for his master, without interacting directly with water. He would be able to keep Master's garden looking nice, instead of mostly dead grass year round. He would be able to defend his master, Master Teddy, and himself with magic, rather than with words or physical violence.

To be perfectly honest, he was not still sure he could channel the magic properly. Were magic as simple as holding a wand and saying '_Wingardium Leviosa_', children would not need to go to school for it. It was challenging, and with his Occlumency shields like they were . . .

"Teddy!" Severus called the small child. "Please do not touch that!" Master Teddy was appallingly close to an old barbed wire fence on the property.

"Teddy! No-no!" Master moved away to prevent tragedy.

He still called Master Teddy 'Master Teddy' in his mind, and supposed he always would. He could understand his master's reasoning, but provided that Severus was still around as the child grew to six, to sixteen, to twenty-six, first-name basis was not overly likely to continue. For a grown man to be called by his first name from a slave, it was disgraceful.

And Severus liked Master Teddy quite a lot. He loved the big smile the child had, the willingness he had to eat anything that didn't eat him first, the increasingly larger vocabulary, and the giggles. The way he could change his facial features in moments, usually inspired by an animal he discovered in a picture book. Teddy was a light in Master's life, and in Severus'. Severus supposed he loved him, in the way that was proper for an adult to love a child. He had little to compare it to, as he did not know if he had ever loved a child before, but he supposed it was right.

He loved Master Teddy, and did not want to disgrace him as he became a man.

Severus continued his work. Master had said that working in the kitchen garden was good for those who had suffered trauma, which was why they were outside. And Severus needed all the help he could get when it came to trauma.

Severus was not oblivious to his mental state. He knew something was wrong. Normal people, slave or not, did not have debilitating nightmares. They did not struggle with water, like Severus did. Normal people did not experience the Monster, however.

Oh, he had nightmares about all of his past owners, save Master Müller, who Severus barely recalled . . . as if his mental state had been so poor at the time, he had not truly been self-aware. He had nightmares that the Monster was strangling him, only to heal him and begin again. He had nightmares of Master Weston selling him to the Monster, even to other people. He had nightmares that he had to be sent back to Master Mering . . . and even in daylight hours, he could be quite certain he caught a whiff of Mistress Weston's perfume.

Yes, he was quite aware that, even for a slave, he was troubled. He also recognised his master's intent and willingness to help him, though why he wanted to in the first place was unclear – to simply stop the nightmares? Well, why not use a silencing charm on the bedroom? Was it to make Severus a better slave, to raise his value? Master had Galleons coming out of his ears, Severus knew, so why did it matter if his slave was worth one or three hundred? Was it that he truly wanted Severus to be well? Severus could easily believe that of his master . . . it made Severus feel terrible. He was nothing but weight on the poor man's shoulders – oh, how he wished to be useful!

"Thanks, Severus." Master returned, kneeling down next to Severus. "I sometimes wish I had eyes on the back of my head. Aunt Petunia told me that all parents have 'em – I think she lied."

"I have never heard of such a thing," Severus responded.

"Really? Your mum never- never mind. Lovely day, isn't it?"

Severus looked up at the dreary sky. The sun was not out – was it over fully out in February? Was Severus supposed to agree with his master, even though he thought it was _not_ a lovely day? His master was not always right, but did that matter in conversation?

"I do hope you meant that in sarcasm, Master."

Master barked a laugh, but did not respond, leaving Severus to feel obligated to continue the conversation himself.

"Have you paid much attention to Gik recently, Master?" Severus nodded to the cast, which joined them out of doors. "She is getting rather stout."

Master paled, his eyes widening behind his smudged glasses. "Shit. Um, I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Maybe it'd not that she's eating too much. She could be . . . oh, might as well ask you – how do you know if a kitty is knocked up?"

Severus dropped the spade he had been handling. "'Stout', indeed."

Harry settled Teddy into his crib, equipped with his juice. "Okay, now, stay in bed now, Teddy. Try to get some sleep."

"Teddy not sweepy!" Teddy protested. "Teddy wanna play outside!"

"Later, Ted – now is nap time."

"No – outside!" Teddy tried to throw his juice out of the crib, but due to the warding around the crib, did not succeed.

Harry left Teddy to whinge until he fell asleep. The older Teddy got, the more troublesome he got. He had been assured that it was a typical kid thing at that age – he hoped so.

He had left Severus outside to finish, while Harry laid Teddy down. He was struggling to allow Severus a bit more space now, a bit more alone time. Severus was alone for hours on the weekdays, but Harry wanted it to be a good thing. He wanted Severus to think 'good, some peace and quiet', not 'Master left me _again_'. It was not an easy medium to achieve.

Harry made a mental note to write Luna, to have her come out and check if Gik was really pregnant. He could do it himself, but knew Luna was trying to become a Wizarding veterinarian of sorts, and wanted to help her however he could. Besides, he missed his friend.

He didn't know how Gik could get pregnant – it wasn't like she went outside very often. There was Crookshanks, of course, but Harry wasn't under the impression that they got on well together or anything. She also was not all that old – seven months, give or take a couple weeks. Could kitties get pregnant at seven months? Was that healthy for them?

Harry had every intention of going into the kitchen and fixing two cups of tea before getting Severus, but the idea was immediately disbanded when he saw the flash of lighting . . . and the sudden downpour of rain,

_Oh, shit._ Severus hated water in small quantities in the sink. Asking him to endure rain being all over him was like asking the pot of gold to please not be associated with the end of the rainbow – it couldn't be done.

He raced outside, hoping that Severus had been on the verandah by the time the rain had started. His hope was in vain, however, as Severus was still in the garden.

The dark blue robes Severus was wearing had become a black wet weight over his body. His hair hung in his face. Severus' knees were brought up to his chest, and his arms wrapped around them. He was either shaking or rocking in the mud; from the distance, Harry couldn't tell which.

_One step forward, two steps back._ Harry knelt down in front of Severus and spoke over the rain. "Severus, it's okay! It's okay! It's just rain! It's okay!"

Severus sobbed. His face was buried in his knees, so Harry couldn't tell if he heard him.

Harry couldn't touch him without scaring him so badly that accidental magic would ensue, sending Harry into next week. But hugging was different, wasn't it? It wasn't as startling as a quick unexpected touch would be.

In one quick movement, he enveloped his arms around Severus, shielding him from the rain as well as he could, comforting him. He did not only just hug him; he held on for dear life as Severus' sobs wreaked through his body.

"It's okay, it's okay," Harry murmured in Severus' ear. "You're safe now – no one's going to hurt you. It's just rain."

Severus coughed violently, as the hysterical sobs continued.

"It's okay – slow down. Try to breathe." Snape might have reprimanded Harry for the repetitive assurances of how it was okay, but Harry didn't care. He didn't plan on what he was saying before he said them; the words just came out.

And besides, Professor Snape wasn't there. Severus Snape was, and he was scared to death.

Harry lost track of how long they were out there. English weather was notorious for quick starts and sudden stops. It was a good thing they had the warming charms on them, or they'd be catching their deaths of cold.

As the flow of the rain began to decrease, Severus' sobs did until they were little more than whimpers, until they were nothing more than sniffles. And still, Harry held on.

Finally, as the last raindrop fell, Harry pulled away. "Why don't we go inside and make some tea, mmm? Change our clothes, and sip some tea, all nice and dry?"

Severus numbly nodded, and so Harry helped him indoors.

Severus stood in the sitting room, nude. He shivered from the wet rain, now that the warming charm was gone. He looked over the new robes that Master had bought for him some weeks ago via Owl Post, which he had not worn yet.

This one, like all the other new sets, was a solid colour. Grey, in this case. There was thin black embroidery going down the sleeves, and a high collar that would (unfortunately?) hide Severus' simple collar. The robes were long enough to cover Severus' feet if he were not wearing shoes, and even had a proper pointed hat to wear, should such an occasion arise where Severus should wear one.

But the thing that stood out most about these robes, and the three similar sets that Master had purchased were that they were new. They were not old castoffs, lengthened and narrowed to fit, patched or frayed. They were not cotton shifts, stained in cooking oil and blood by the slave previous. They were not rags that barely covered ones genitals.

They were clean, new robes. For him.

Severus slipped them on, lest Master catch him in his delay and perceive him ungrateful. He wasn't – he was astounded by his master's generosity, felt undeserving, and not sure how to thank the man. If his master was not always right, certainly that meant he was wrong in buying such fine robes for Severus. But it was not Severus' duty to tell him – that would be wrong.

And as far as the clothing went, Severus quite liked them.

Severus stuck his head in the kitchen, taking care to see that it was bowed slightly. As there had not been a door shot between them, kneeling on the floor was not necessary. "May I enter, Master?"

"Of course." Master had his back turned as he fixed their tea. "Otherwise you'd have to drink it in the sitting room, and our kitchen table would just feel neglected."

Severus was unsure of how to respond to that bizarre comment, so he found it wise not to say anything at all.

Master turned around, mugs in hand. "Ooh, well, you look snazzy. I didn't know what colours to get, so I had Hermione pick them out – she did well, don't you think? Sit; let's talk."

"Yes, Master." Severus knelt beside his master's chair, preparing for his master to hand him the mug.

"Um, that's not what I meant, Severus – um, could you sit in another chair? I really want to have a conversation, and it's hard when you're kneeling down there."

Severus felt drained. Stretched, like a bit of porridge feeding a large family. The last thing he wanted to do was muster up the emotional resolve it took to sit at the table. But he had no choice in the matter.

Severus stood, and took his place across the table, facing Master.

"Thank you," Master sincerely said, sliding a mug over to him. "I know you're exhausted after what just happened, and a couple months ago, I probably would have just tucked you in for a nap – and we can still do that, but we need to talk first."

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus looked out the window for the potentially pregnant cat – he needed her to sleep. "Yes, Master."

Severus curled his fingers tightly around the mug, waiting for his master's words. A talk was never a good sign, was it? It was never a good sign when one's authority said 'we need to have a talk'.

Master seemed to be holding his mug just as tightly. His knuckles were white. "Severus . . . you know I care about you, right? That I want to help you, you know? What you've been through with Mering and everyone else, I reckon the only reason you're still sane is because of the Occlumency – that's not an insult! It means you're strong. Most people in your shoes would have gone potty by now."

Master was not always right, but he knew what he was doing when it came to Severus' mental state, Severus was sure. He always knew what he was doing when it came to it, it seemed.

"I care about you a lot, and I want to help you. I want to make it so that you don't need Occlumency shields to be okay, that the panic attacks go away. It might not be entirely possible, but I want to try."

Severus turned his head so that he was freely looking out the window. If he looked down at his tea, Master would take it for sulking and softly say 'look at me'. Severus want to avoid that scenario.

"Dr. Brown wanted to help you, too – she liked you. It wasn't, you know, anything personal that she couldn't. It was just that she didn't feel qualified to help you, and didn't want to get in the way of you getting the best care possible."

Master sighed. "And I think it's getting to that point where we should . . . you know, talk. I guess I'm not the best person in the world to be playing therapist – I'm pretty messed up, too. I'm not too talkative when it comes to talking about personal problems. Hermione says that's being a man. Which is a problem, you know, cause we're both men."

That was a keen observation. Master Severus were both men – would the wonders never cease?

Severus clenched his teeth as the terrible burning began on his forehead. Making fun, mocking his master, was a terrible sin. Next time prompted to confess his disobedience, Severus would unfortunately have to explain to his master and hope for a suitable punishment.

"So, um, if you want to talk, I can listen – I'm a good listener. Everyone tells me that. So, if there's something on your chest that you want to get off . . . you can talk about it."

One thing that could be said for Master was that his timing was impeccable. "I mocked you in my mind today, Master, and I apologise. I realise what I did was wrong, and I beg you to-"

"Whoa, wait." When Severus looked at his master, he realised the man looked rather dazed. "That's- That's not what I meant. I mean, you tell me what you think you did wrong before you go to bed at night, and that's fine, but that's not what we're trying to do now. We're trying to talk about feelings and stuff."

_Feelings_? Severus did not talk about _feelings_. Not only was talk of feelings pointless for a slave, but it was rather uncomfortable to do so. Severus' master was entitled to him wholly and fully, but that did not mean Severus wanted his master to know how his heart felt.

Severus bit his lip. "I'm afraid I do not understand."

"I'm afraid you're gonna put a hole in your lip – here." Master handed Severus a flannel. "Bite down on that instead of your lip. But yeah, you're afraid you don't understand – at least we're getting somewhere. Afraid is a feeling, yeah? Fear?"'

Severus supposed it was. "Yes, Master." He bit the flannel – it did not have the same effect as biting the lip did.

"So, um, how do you feel when you're around water?" Master asked. "Whoops, look outside – it's raining again! Good thing we're nice and dry."

How did Severus feel around water? He hated it. He hated what it did to him. "Hate." Severus chewed harder on the flannel.

"Hate? For the water or something else?"

Interrogation always made Severus anxious."Ah . . . the water, sir."

"Um, okay . . . well . . . um, have you ever liked water? You don't have to take your Occlumency shields down or anything."

Severus felt no pressure to. He looked out the window again before speaking. "I do not recall having a special fondness for water, no." He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block the memories of the Monster's. "Master Mering let me take two showers. He did not have soap."

"Oh, well, do you know why you hate it, then?"

Severus' breathing quickened as memories flitted through his mind. He wanted so to keep them at bay, but he was already keeping thirty-eight years worth of memory back – any more proved impossible.

_No air. Water all around. Bubbles, as air left the water. Gasps for breath. Burning – burning – in the lungs. Falling, no way to feel bottom or surface._

_No air. Burning._

"Severus, it's okay." Master broke Severus' train of thought. "Nothing is bad about the water in my house, I promise."

Master was using reason, which was fine for a man of his status. Severus had unfortunately abandoned reason altogether – for a man of _his_ status that was wise, as reason complicated things so.

"What happened, Severus?" Master's voice hardened. "Did Weston do something to you?"

"Master Weston did a lot of things to me." Severus looked down at his full mug. "He let me bathe in water once a week."

"Oh." Master's voice was still tense. "And how'd you feel about that?"

It seemed so long ago. Severus, whenever allowed to use the shower or bath, felt . . . grateful. Like he wanted to stay under the shower head all day, watching the weight he carried slip down the drain. Rushed. Like he needed to hurry and get back to work, to please his master and mistress.

"I... enjoyed them, I suppose." How was one supposed to remember feelings from so long ago?

"So if it wasn't Weston, or Mering, or Müller, that leaves- oh." Master sucked in a breath. "Chinese Water Torture?"

Severus was sure he did not have the slightest clue what his master was on about.

"Severus, can you tell me what happened to you?" Master asked.

"_Please! No – please! I'll be good! I'll be good! No!" Severus screamed as the Monster approached and unchained Severus from the wall._

_For several moments, he dragged Severus by the collar, choking him, the sharp steel edges of the collar cutting into his skin._

_Severus couldn't speak after that. He could not beg, plead for mercy – he had to breathe._

A sob escaped Severus' throat. He looked down, his tears falling into his tea mug. He did not want his master to see his tears – owners were to be unaware of their slave's emotions.

"Severus, breathe. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. I bet you don't. When I was little, my big old cousin smashed my head open on the bathtub tap, and I still don't like to talk about it. It takes practise to tell bad memories. You don't have to tell me anything, or the whole thing – just bits and parts would be nice. If you don't want to talk to me, I get it. It'd probably be best if you spoke to someone else, because I own you so there are obligations you feel and, shit, well, there _are_ obligations. You can talk to another bloke, though – girls aren't so good at understanding us. I'm sure George or Mr. Weasley would gladly come over after work. Master Ron doesn't have lots of time, and he's kind of insensitive, but if you want to talk to him, I'm sure we can work something out."

Severus swallowed hard, wiping his eyes with the flannel. "I want to talk to you. You're my master; you know me best. You know almost everything there is to know about me, so I would not have to go through the history." _And I would not want to shame you by telling someone all about your mentally ill slave._ It was a bit frightening to think that Master knew things about Severus that Severus didn't, as he had forced himself to temporarily forget. It almost made him want to find those things out. Almost.

"Shall I warm your tea, or do you not want it?" Master asked.

Severus' mouth felt dry, his tongue foreign. His throat was so swollen from crying, however, that he was sure he could not swallow tea.

"Whatever you see fit," Severus croaked.

Master cast the warming charm. "Whenever you're ready."

How was Severus to explain the Monster, when he didn't understand him himself? How was he supposed to explain the torture, when he could not differentiate from nightmare and reality? How could he explain the pain and darkness, when there had been no concept of day and night?

A good storyteller, even when telling a terrible story, always began at the beginning. But where was the beginning of this tale? Where did it end?

He examined the fingernails, no longer so abnormally long and strong now that the nutritive potion had become his supplement, not his base. "When an owner entrusts a secret to a slave, and then sells the slave, is the slave allowed to tell the secret to the new owner?"

"I don't know, Severus. Why don't we buy a book on slavery laws, and find out what are rules that we have to follow, and what are just recommendations, hmm?"

So Severus could not start the story with Mistress Weston's bed, and the way she liked to be pleasured by Severus' mouth. He could not explain the scandalous threesome one-night-stand in Paris that had started the terrible emotional turmoil, in Severus' eyes.

"I did something wrong, and Master Weston sold me." Tears pricked Severus' eyes, but did not fall. He had never spoken about the pain Master Weston's betrayal caused him. "It was my fault. I understand it was my fault. I didn't want to, though! Master told me to."

Master was quiet a moment. "Severus, I might be missing something here, but if he told you to do something, how was it your fault? You _had_ to listen to him. You didn't have a _choice_, and he _knew_ that. If he told you, for example, to jump off a cliff and you did, you wouldn't have committed suicide; he would have committed murder."

One who owned a slave could kill said slave perfectly legally, but apart from that, Master's point made excellent sense. Master and Mistress Weston had said it was his fault, but that wasn't true. It was Master Weston's fault for losing track of time, Mistress' fault for demanding he be sold. It wasn't Severus' fault at all – it was entirely Master and Mistress' faults, for their decisions.

Severus had lost Master Weston for nothing. It made him start crying again, but he didn't know why – he was a grown man, and they were not to cry very frequently.

"He- he sold me t-to the Mon-Monster." Severus chewed the flannel during their conversation breaks. "He-He said he n-never wa-wanted to see me again."

"The Monster." Master nodded. "König. Why do you call him that?"

Severus wasn't sure he remembered. "He did not understand our language, or perhaps he did. I cannot really be sure. And he was really only a master in name, Master. A real master, even if he does not treat his slaves well, treats them like slaves. He acts like a master. The Monster..." Involuntarily, Severus shuddered. "The Monster acted like a monster."

_You're speaking ill of a past owner. You can think ill if them, perhaps, but to speak of them in that manner . . . _

"Forgive me, please, Master. It is wrong for me to-"

"No, Severus – it's okay. You can say whatever you want about anyone to me – it's all right." It was Master's turn to bite his lip. "But by your logic – correct me if I'm wrong – a real master is one who treats their slaves like property. I try to treat you like a friend. Does that make me not a real master?"

Had Severus implied that? He certainly hadn't meant to. His head was starting to feel extraordinarily heavy, and it made it hard to process thoughts into words. "I did not mean that, Master! I-I-I-" He sighed. "This has been a really confusing day for me. I apologise, Master, for my words. I wish I could take them back."

Master reached across the table and gripped Severus' hand. "It's okay – it's been a really confusing day for me, too. Why don't you go crawl into bed for a nap, and I'll go outside and find Gik? I'll be up with her in a moment."

Severus had never been more eager to sleep in his life. Or, at least, his life as he recalled it.

**Coming up next in _Unwell. . ._  
. . .Chapter Sixty-Five: _Unknowingly Unwanted_**

_**A/N: Thank you, everyone, for your readership, and for reviewing and/or reccing. You make me smile at my screen like quite the idiot. I feel I do not say this frequently enough, and I apologise for that, but I also fear making myself seem terribly redundant. Thank you.**_


	65. The Magic Words

_**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**_

**Chapter Sixty-Five  
"The Magic Words"**

* * *

Gik pushed her paws into Severus' chest, each claw one by one. She purred incessantly, as Severus stroked her back. The rumbling in his chest as he smoke matched her purrs rather well.

"I do not think asking him could hurt," Severus quietly reasoned. "After all, what is the worst that could happen?"

_Multiple curses. Beatings. Poison. Starvation._

No, not Master. Master did not do those sorts of things. He did not punish through physical pain, or even emotional pain. He punished by boredom, if necessary, which was not bad at all. It was difficult to keep the punishment there by not raising the Occlumency shields high enough, as a matter of fact.

"Not Master," Severus said out loud. "He would not get angry if I just asked. It is not as if I am trying to illicit permission to use it – I just wish to know what _happened_ to it." It occurred to him that there was really no reason to know if he was not intending on using it, but he brushed it aside. A wizard needed to know what happened to his wand, even if it was no longer his.

Gik bunted her head against Severus' palm as the petting continued.

"And why should he get angry?" Severus continued. "He doesn't anger often, and only angers at things most terrible, like the time I pinched Master Teddy."

The pain in his forehead struck, but why, Severus was not sure. Was it for calling Master's adopted son 'Master'? Was it a reminder and extra punishment for pinching Master Teddy?

He rubbed at his forehead, sneezing when cat hair got into his nose.

Gik did not seem to like that much; she jumped from his chest to the windowsill.

Severus sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Outside was only the blackest night. Some nights, he could see thousands of stars. From Master Teddy's room, when looking out the window, one could see a faint glow from far beyond the trees, of a Muggle town nearby. Severus did not what sights could be seen from Master's bedroom – he had never entered it.

"Would Master be angry if I spent the night on the perch?" Severus wondered if being the raven would allow the pain on his head to disappear. He felt bad even considering it, as that would be a terrible thing, intentionally avoiding punishment.

His forehead burned all the more as consequence.

Gik looked at him behind half-lidded eyes, looking as if she could not be bothered either way. Severus knew better though – she was terrified of the raven. She was small, but the flopping of such large wings - and such a large beak - was enough to make her run instead of attack.

Severus could not ask his master about the wand now. It was late, and being a weekday, his master was tired from work.

But when else would Severus ask? It was not as if he often had an opportunity to ask such a thing from his mater. Master spent his evenings racing around, playing with Master Teddy, and showing interest in seemingly everything Severus did, or had done that day. He supposed that was his master's way for making up for the time he spent at work away from them.

Master could spend more time with his friends and Master Teddy if allowed Severus to do the _piles_ of homework and essays Master brought home. The books Master had to read were thicker than Severus' torso... he did not like how all the work stressed his master so.

But Master did not mind when Severus interrupted, or asked a question out of the blue – he _encouraged_ Severus to, as a matter of fact. He would not like it if he knew how many weeks Severus had been stewing over this one issue.

The cat made a sound, and rolled over onto her back, remarkably not falling off of the windowsill.

Severus blew the hair out of his eyes. "Fine, but I am not going in there alone. You must come with me... just in case."

With the cat with him, all dangers in Master's bedroom did not quite evaporate, but it helped create the illusion that they did.

Harry startled when the alarm over Severus' door sounded, but he did not get up out of bed right away. If the alarm over _Teddy's _room sounded, then there would be reason for concern. Perhaps Severus was just going to the loo. Perhaps Gik had wandered out of his room – since he had warded it for all species except for microorganisms, bacteria, and the like, it often went off due to Gik, and mice.

He really needed to solve that mice problem.

"Master?" Severus opened the bedroom door, cautiously slipping his head in.

Harry's mouth fell open. Severus rarely came to see him in his bedroom. Come to think of it, had he ever? "Hiya, Severus. You want to come in?"

Severus hesitated before slipping inside the bedroom, shutting the door silently behind him. He held himself very stiffly, hugging his arms tightly to his chest as he stood at the end of Harry's bed. Gik trailed inside behind him.

"You want to sit down?" He patted a space on the foot of the bed. "I could conjure a chair, if you like. Or you could sit on the floor... whatever." He really hoped Severus wouldn't take a seat on the floor. He was doing so good about that, Severus was. He was so nervous every time he took a seat on the couch, or in a chair, and still didn't like to around anyone else but Harry and Teddy, but he still sat down in chairs some of the time. Kneeling in front of Harry in an informal circumstance, in the privacy of their small Devon home would be a step down from where they were at.

_But then again,_ Harry had to remind himself, _that's the way Severus and I move together. One step forward, two steps back._

"Master, you are asking me to sit on..?" A thick crease was on Severus' forehead, one that was there a lot lately, as he worried about what he was allowed to do. Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for the man.

"The bed, the floor, or a chair." Harry tried to sound indifferent. He waved his hand on the side of the bed where Severus stood, producing a large, comfortable armchair that looked to be the second most comfortable thing in the room. If Harry weren't already in the comfortable bed, he'd kill to curl up in the armchair.

Severus bit his lip, and in one movement, sat on the chair. _On_ was the key word; he didn't sink back into it, but simply perched on it. Harry was used to that by now. When Severus sat in a chair, it was for show, not for comfort.

The room was silent for a few moments, Severus just staring at his hands, which he folded in his lap, and Harry, trying not to stare at Severus, but not knowing where else to look. He wanted to seem interested, but not _too_ interested. Severus didn't like that.

"Master?" Severus asked, finally, in a low voice. His wide eyes gave Harry the impression that he was ready to run out of the room at any moment. Severus was growing more and more bold by the day, but he had a tendency to lose any boldness when he thought he was doing something wrong, or was afraid of Harry. It made Harry sick to think that Severus thought he had reason to be _afraid_ of him. Harry had trouble killing a damn mouse – it was why his house was infested with them.

But then again, it wasn't _him _Severus was afraid of, per se. It was Nigel Mering, Weston and his wife, and the other people that had owned Severus. It was the people who had beat and tortured him on a regular basis, like König_._ With the Occlumency shields like they were, fear and distrust was all Severus really knew.

What scared Harry was that even with the Occlumency shields down, it could very well be the same thing.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, looking over at him. For what had to be the hundredth millionth time, he made eye contact with him, almost as if in a staring contest. He used to do that all the time with him, back when he hated him and now, just to convey trust. He hoped Severus didn't take it as a challenge.

Severus looked back down at his lap. His long fingers were fidgeting as he spoke. "Master, once you told me to come to you if I was ever afraid or needed anything."

Harry figured that was why he had come. He had had a nightmare. Not a screaming nightmare, thank God, but one that shook him up pretty badly.

"Yeah, I figured that's why you came." If Harry were in Severus' position, he thought he might like to have someone reach out and grasp his hand, and tell him that everything was okay. He usually did that when Severus was only a little scared. But they were already in Harry's bedroom, with Harry in his pyjamas and Severus in his nightshirt - the situation was likely already too intimate for what Severus would comfortably allow himself.

Severus bit his lip even harder. Harry didn't tell Severus to stop, as much as he wanted to. It was Severus' way of coping. He wished he had a different way of doing so, a less painful, destructive way. Typically, Harry would get him to stop and give him something else to take his nervousness or hurt out on, but right now, he just wanted him to get the words out.

"I-I realise that this is a large request, Master." Severus' voice was so soft Harry had to strain to hear it. "I've no right to ask."

_Ask? Ask? Ask what? 'Master, once you told me to come to you if I was ever afraid or needed anything'_... Severus _needed_ something. He wasn't afraid; he _needed_ something.

Harry tried not to be overjoyed at that realisation. The thought that Severus thought he could come to him when afraid was one thing, but that Severus could come to him because he _needed_ something was a great feat, indeed. Not just a glass of water or a trip to the loo – a real _need_.

"It's okay," Harry said, quickly. "Try not to think like that, Severus. As far as I'm concerned, you have lots of rights, okay?" He knew now not to say 'as many rights as a normal person' - that would only send Severus into an internal and possibly external panic.

Severus nodded. "Yes, sir."

Harry waited for him to say something, but he didn't. "Severus?" Harry prodded. "Did you want to ask me something?"

Severus looked up from his wringing hands. "Yes, sir." He whispered, casting his eyes downward again, as if he could not bear the sight of Harry. "I would like to enquire about the status, at this current time, about an ebony wand with a dragon heartstring, which I have reason to believe you could possibly possess."

Harry couldn't have been more surprised if Severus had told him that he wanted to change his hair to look like a pink feather duster. An ebony wand, with a dragon heartstring? Was that Severus' wand? Harry didn't really know - he didn't know his wand types too well, and he had no way of knowing the core of anybody's wand, really.

"An ebony wand, with a dragon heartstring?" Harry repeated.

Severus' face fell. Harry hadn't been able to recognise the glimmer of hope in Severus; eyes until it left. "You do not know of which I speak." Severus softly said, bowing his head. "Forgive me, Master. I-"

_No, no. Not that speech again._ If Harry had to hear it again that day, he'd sick up. Honest to goodness, he would. He held up his hand. "No, no, Severus. I think I do know what you're talking about, but I was kinda hoping you'd elaborate a little more." He should have known better. Severus Snape had always managed to be quite the elusive bastard.

"Are you talking about your wand?" Harry asked him.

Severus' eyes widened even further. He began shaking his head, almost madly. "N-No, sir. I-I-It is now yours, s-s-s-sir. It does not belong to m-m-me. I-I-It is-"

Another tangent. One that would only turn into another panic attack. Harry was getting really good at this - he'd have to really look into creating a Snape uni course. He'd bet that a lot of people who had once met Severus would attend, wishing to understand him. Maybe someday, if Severus got miraculously much better than anyone seemed to think he ever would be, he could even be a guest speaker someday.

"Severus, breathe." Harry interrupted, taking care to keep his voice soft. If it were sharp, Severus would get scared. "Look at me."

Severus lifted his head to gaze into Harry's eyes.

"The wand that you're talking about." Harry took a deep breath. How he had hoped for this moment to come, yet now that it had... was Severus ready for a wand? To use magic? "I think I have it. When I- when I bought you, they gave me a wand that I think is ebony. It's black-ish. It probably is the one that you owned a couple years ago."

_Good job, Harry_, he silently congratulated himself. _You didn't say 'your wand'_. Though someday he hoped that he could refer to Severus' _anything_ and not see Severus flinch or have Severus remind Harry of Severus' status.

"I see." Severus' voice was almost hoarse. Weak.

_Don't torture him. You know why he's here._ Harry sighed. "I have it, and I'd like to give it to you. But I'm kind of hesitant to. I don't know if you're healthy enough to use it."

Severus' expression didn't change, but Harry didn't expect it to.

"That's not saying that you _can't _have it someday." Harry continued, hoping he was choosing his words wisely. "You can. Someday, I'll give it to you and you can perform whatever spells you'd like. No limitations on anything." _Well, unless you want to A.K. someone, but seeing is how last time you did that it didn't work out so well, I don't think you'd do that anyway._ "I just don't think now is the right time."

"Yes, Master." Severus replied. "It was foolish of me to ask."

"Was not." Harry felt like he was a first-year again, arguing over if Jelly Yonnick, the Quidditch player, had made a foolish move or not. "I'm very glad you asked me. The fact that you asked me means that you're going to be ready to use your wand again soon."

Silence. Then, "May I ask how soon, sir?"

Harry honestly didn't know the answer to that. Really, it was up to Severus to decide, but Harry couldn't just _say_ that. "I'm not sure. A couple weeks. A couple months. Maybe a year. I don't think any longer than that, really, but you never know."

"I understand that, sir."

"Do you understand that you're not being punished?" Harry asked. "It's not because you've been bad or anything. It's just because, well... you know, right?"

"I am confused."

"Yeah." Harry breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he didn't have to be the one to say it. "It's not your fault or anything. It's because of the bad people that made you confused. Anyone else in your position would have been just as confused. More confused."

Just a nod. Severus probably didn't know what to say. Harry didn't, either. He felt kind of bad. He had just turned of age not long ago at all in the grand scheme of things, and knew how it felt to have to go without a wand on a day-to-day basis. He couldn't imagine going months without it, though. He hadn't since he knew of magic's true existence.

"I know it's rough." Harry said. "I know you're not going to hex yourself or anybody or do anything stupid - I just think it'd be pretty overwhelming for you to hold a wand in your hands again. We're going to want to take this slowly."

Again, no response. Harry never felt like he was talking to a wall though, not with Severus. With Severus, he could talk and talk and talk, and know that Severus was really listening, even if he didn't have many reactions or words to say.

"You're doing a really good job though. When you sit down in chairs, and when you eat your food at the table, with spoons and forks... it's all really good." He paused. "To get you better though, we're going to have to talk more about what happened these past- God, it's almost been two years. And you're going to have to completely take down the Occlumency shields, all right? Not tonight, but someday soon, okay?" He was the one biting his lip now.

Severus acted like he was not phased one bit. "If you wish."

"I think it's a good idea.".

Another silence. A long one. They weren't awkward silences, really. It was a good thing they weren't, because otherwise it would have _really_ awkward. Not just a _little_, but _really_. Harry supposed the reason that they weren't awkward was because they were both thinking. If they were both nervous and thinking about what to say to each other, _then_ the silence would be awkward.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Harry tried to be considerate and ask.

Severus turned his head to look at Harry. "I always have nightmares." He said, very matter-of-factly.

He coloured. Severus never failed to make him feel like an idiot, even unintentionally. "Well, talking about the past - you know, your other owners and stuff - is supposed to help get rid of the nightmares. A book said so."

"_'The Road to Recovery'_?"

Severus had noticed the titles? "Yeah, that one and others. Do you want to talk about the nightmares? Sometimes it helps." Not that Harry knew from personal experience - he rarely discussed his nightmares with anyone.

Severus paused. "Would you like me to, Master?" He asked.

_Why does he always say 'master' just when I'm tempted to do something he doesn't want me to do? He does it on purpose to guilt-trip me, I swear. _Harry shook his head. "Not now, if you don't want to. Maybe tomorrow or, you know, the next day or the day after that, or the day after that, or the day after that... or the next week or something."

Severus nodded. "Yes, sir. If you wish."

"I don't wish, but it's something you've got to talk about. After we work on the Occlumency shields. I mean it, Severus; don't take down the shields without me there with you, with clear permission." Harry sighed. "Look, I don't want to make it a habit, but since it's already so late, would you like some Dreamless Sleep? It'd probably help a lot." He jerked open the drawer to his bedside table and pulled out a vial of Dreamless Sleep. He frowned, uncorking it and turning it upside down.

It was an empty vial.

"It does not work, sir," Severus said. "I... I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I- It does not work. My system grew used to it many years ago. I-I am not sure of the circumstances surrounding why I took it, but I am sure I did.

_Shit. _Your system could grow _used_ to it? He knew one could become addicted to it, and need more of the potion for it to take effect... he was up to four vials a sitting. Was it the same thing as growing used to it? Either way, Harry was screwed. "How long did it take?"

Severus was back to biting his lip. "I do not recall, sir. I apologise, I should have kept record. Please-"

"No, it's no big deal." He hated it when Severus apologised for things like that, that happened twenty years ago. How was he supposed to know then what he'd want to know now? "Are there any other variants you can take that work? I might have some, or be able to buy some."

"No, sir. Not that I am aware."

Which meant 'no'. If there was a potion, Severus would have found it.

"Oh." Harry said, dropping the vial back in the drawer and shutting it. "Well, how about I go tuck you in? We need our sleep. Tomorrow is a big day at the Ministry, and Mrs. Weasley said something about you coming over tomorrow evening to help her with spring gnomes."

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell. . .**_**  
****. . .Chapter Sixty-Six:**_**Home Alone**_

**A/N: **_This chapter has taken awhile to get out, due to being busy (on an unrelated note, I celebrate my birthday on Thursday) and something in the fanfiction world that was/is going on. Many of you are aware of the hurt and frustration I recently received regarding 'Unwell'; thank you so much for holding my hand during that period! Thanks so much for your kindness, messages, reviews, and interest. I really mean it._


	66. Home Alone

_**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**_

**Chapter Sixty-Six  
"Home Alone"**

* * *

The task of putting jigsaw puzzles together was quite menial, and mindless. What was the point in taking a beautifully sculpted picture, tearing it apart, to work so hard to put together again? Especially when the cracks would always be there.

There was a clever analogy in there somewhere, but Severus was not going to stress himself to think about it. He had already encountered several stressors that day; an overflowing toilet, mould on his sandwich bread, and Gik's long jump from the tall cupboard to the floor, which was certainly not good for her young. He did better with the stressors Master spoke of than he used to, but did not need his luck pushed.

He had wiped up the water from the toilet, and would go outside if he needed to eliminate, until Master came home. The bit of mould on the bread was likely unintentional by Severus' master, but '_likely'_ left room for error. Had Master left it intentionally, Severus should eat it, but if he left it unintentionally, would Master be angry if he ate it? It had taken Severus fifteen minutes to make the decision to eat the bit with mould rather than pluck it out... just in case.

"Gik." Severus warned the lazy cat who was covering half of the puzzle. She had a nasty habit of knocking pieces off the card table Master had set up and warded against Master Teddy's curious little hands.

Gik yawned lazily, conveying her boredom.

"Puzzles every day does get old, but Master means well." Severus found the piece for the turtle's eyes. "He does not want me to perform tasks, and would like to keep me from being idle. At Master Mering's, I would often scrub floors for twenty hours a day – would you rather me be doing that?" He did not object to hard work, as it was what he existed to do, but he would much rather not be on his knees for so long.

There was not a large variety of things for Severus to do around the house, five days a week, by his lonesome. Dishes took minutes, with only his small plate and glass. He had even taken to doing a few small other chores, such as sweeping floors and straightening the sitting room. One, despite their intelligence, could only absorb so much French at a time, and the Rubik's Cube was just frustrating – he felt so closeto finishing it, and yet so far. It was as if every time he felt he was close, he had only further disoriented himself. It was as if he took one step forward, and then three back.

He and Gik wore themselves out playing Hide-And-Go-Seek and tag with Severus' raven (Severus was always "it", as he was equal in size with the cat). They typically napped until Master and Master Teddy arrived home, renewing interest in their lives.

To be perfectly honest, Severus wished Master Teddy were able to stay home with them. Oh, he knew the socialisation with children was good for his development, and that Master Teddy surely enjoyed his time away from home. He wanted what was best for his master's son – he did. He cared very deeply for him. However, the selfish part of him wanted Master Teddy to stay home with Gik and him, because he missed him.

It was quite evident that Severus was not to be alone with Master Teddy. It had been that way since Severus had been purchased by Master, but it had gotten worse after the pinching incident. Master had set up warding several weeks ago, so that an alarm sounded every time Severus crossed certain bedroom thresholds. They had tested it many times. It was quite humiliating. Not being trusted like that was humiliating.

Severus was capable of passing time by in a way that few others could. He could block all sense of time and space, living lazily in an unaware existence. He could pass his days that way, but did not. He thought it would make him a poor slave. Moreover, he did not want to. He wanted to be alert and functioning. He was not willing to sacrifice that for an ending of his boredom and confusion.

Once he would have. He _had_. He remembered the white room, the barn and farm at Master Müller's. He remembered how he lived in that state, and it was not desirable. While it was frustrating to have a concept of the decisions he was unable to make, he preferred to have it than be a zombie. He knew he was little more than a trained dog, but preferred to be conscious of the fact, as consciousness was one of the few decisions he was typically free to make.

He was not fully conscious of himself as it was. He used Occlumency to avoid thinking of so much. It gave him terrible headaches, but he had no other choice in the matter. He did not want to think of the past, was not _allowed_ to. He knew prolonged use of extensive Occlumency could drive one into insanity, but his use of it was not extensive enough for _that_ to happen. The headaches and lethargy he felt were results of the Occlumency, and hopefully the worst it would get, because his master would not allow him to let down the shields. Not without his consent, anyhow.

Gik's meowing, and the bunting of her head against Severus' hand brought him back to reality. She had been extra affectionate since becoming pregnant, which was saying something, as she was a very affectionate cat.

Severus had determined that her kittens would arrive at about April 4th. That was only in a couple short weeks. He felt a childlike excitement over it. He knew he would not be allowed to keep the kittens, and could not say he even had a keen desire to. Master George had offered to sell them in his shop and give Severus the money – as Severus could not own anything, the money would be Master's, and only naturally as Gik was his. It did make Severus glad that his master was going to be reimbursed for the costs it took to take care of Gik – he knew Master had only brought her home because Severus had wanted her.

"A few more moments, Gik – I am accomplishing this quicker now than I have-"Severus tried to put in the few last pieces of the puzzle, but Gik's incessant meowing caused him to stop.

"What?" Severus asked with a sigh. "I am tired – I do not want to play right now."

She jumped off the card table, her belly shaking enough to make her nearly lose her balance, and ran to the door, clawing to get out.

"No," Severus said. "I do not like it when you go outside – you could get hurt or lost. If you give birth outdoors, they could be eaten by wild animals." He did not know what he would do if Gik did not come home at night. He supposed it was much how he would feel if Master or Master Teddy did not come home in the evenings.

However, he did have to eliminate, and he would be lying if he said he thought a flight around the perimeters of his master's property would not ease his mind. His life seemed so much less complex in the mind of the raven. He was able to converse with the other birds, birthday that were finally starting to emerge after the long winter months. He was able to hide away food, even, for a later date. He did not suppose he was allowed to eat whenever he wanted; he would have to ask Master at some point. Hiding food, however, gave him a stash if his master forgot to feed him. The stash needed to be replaced often, as vegetation died and meat rotted.

Severus glanced at the grandfather clock, "Master will be home in an hour – we should be inside when he arrives"

Gik persisted, so Severus had to give in. He was a weak man, a weak slave, and he supposed Gik was one of his biggest weaknesses, as he could not say _no_ to her. In fact, she was his biggest weakness; Severus could not say _no_ to his master, either, but his master was not his weakness, but his biggest strength.

"Only for twenty minutes." Severus slipped on the shoes Master insisted he wear when going outside. They felt like large concrete blocks stuck to his feet. "I can only be out for twenty minutes; I must be inside by the time Master comes home." He was not about to have his master come home after a hard day's work and see Severus gallivanting all over the property, It was fine that he did so, but the moment Severus' master Apparated home, Severus was to serve him to the fullest. He needed to be on his knees, alert, ready to polish shoes, massage feet, or pleasure, if need be. Severus' master never asked those things of him, but that did not mean Severus was to not be available.

Gik meowed again, this time clawing at Severus' fine green robes, leaving marks that implied Severus was not grateful for, and consequently did not care for what his master bought for him.

"Does pregnancy give on the right to nag?" Severus opened the door for the cat. "I really do not think it does – men do not nag when-"

Gik was gone, chasing after something or other, leaving Severus alone, unable to finish his sentence to another living thing.

He sighed, and ambled to the bushes. He had every intention of eliminating and then taking off in flight, and leave his confusion on the ground, but as a slave, his intentions didn't matter. It did not matter that he intended to save his master trouble – he made more. It did not matter that he intended to pleasure – his owner didn't want it.

It did not matter what he had intended to do in the next moments, as someone interrupted.

"Why, Severus Snape," a smooth voice said from behind. "I would say that it has been too long, however…"

Severus dropped his robes and turned around, all thoughts of eliminating and flight forgotten.

There was a man standing on the veranda, where Severus had been moments ago. He was leaning against a post, his silver cane supporting his balance. His blonde hair was clearly starting to whiten, and his facial features beginning to line. His smile was thin and grey eyes unfriendly, but that was not what scared Severus.

What scared Severus was the man's stance – his posture erect, his shoulders back, and his movements sure and firm. They were the movements of a domineering man, a man who knew who he was and what he wanted to do. They were also the types who knew what Severus was, and how they could profit from that.

Severus knelt in the dirt, his forehead landing in an unfortunate damp area from the prior rain. "How may I serve you, sir?" He asked. He wished Gik had stayed nearby.

"Ruining such fine robes by kneeling in the mud, are we?" He scoffed. "That is something you would do."

Uncertainly, Severus began to raise his head, to try to identify the man, but the man snapped at him. "Head down!"

His forehead went back into the mud.

The man continued. "Is your master in, Severus?"

_How does he know my name?_ It occurred to him that it must be someone from his past life, or someone from an incoherent moment of Severus' current one, as he could not remember who it was. The terrible pain in his head from the pressure the Occlumency shields created implied the former.

"No, sir – he is not." Severus answered the man. "He shall be home in an hour, however – if you would care to wait outside. Please go in. I will get you a cup of tea, if you-"

"Within the hour or after one hour?" The man interrupted.

Did Severus not just say? "He will be at least an hour, perhaps over one. It is a Monday – he tends to run late on Mondays coming home, after the extra day off his employers provide."

"I will go inside – make that tea. Milk and sugar." Footsteps indicated that the man went indoors.

Severus stood, nearly tripping over the filthy green robes he had been so happy with hours earlier.

He looked around for Gik, but she was unfortunately nowhere in sight. He could only take a deep breath, hope he was doing the right thing, and go indoors.

Tea was not an overly simple thing to make the Muggle way – instead of tipping water from the wand, one had to boil it on the stove. Severus was quite experienced making it in this fashion, however – with all of the tea Master drank, surely it ran through his veins.

Where had he seen that man before? Severus knew his face; he knew this man. Names slipped easily through Severus' brain, like water through hands. The same young Irishman had stopped by to see Master twice since Severus' ownership by him, and each time he had forgotten his name. Was it age, the Occlumency or his mental confusion that Master occasionally spoke of? He supposed it was the lack of _need_ to remember people's names that were above him - 'master' or 'mistress' suited fine for someone he rarely saw.

However, he could not even remember the circumstances surrounding the man. Had he pleasured him at some point? He could not have been someone from Henderson's – he was far too refined for a job like that.

_Master is a very important man_, Severus realised, quickly exchanging the chipped mug for Master's lone teacup_. This could be someone very important – a ministry official. A head of a magazine. An ambassador from another country._

It served as a reminder of how important it was for Severus to make a good impression, as Harry Potter's sole slave. It was far too bad he did not have a wand to clean his robes; how inconvenient being wandless was becoming! He wished his master would deem him ready to use one soon!

He washed his face and hands as best he could in the sink, slicking hair back out of his face. He poured the boiling water into the teacup and added the tea bag to the cup. He balanced it on the tray with the milk and sugar, not daring to guess how the man liked it, before carrying it into the sitting room.

The man was not sitting on Master's furniture, but on a conjured armchair of his own, facing the fire he had evidentially lit. Severus could not help but feel a bit defensive – what was wrong with his master's furniture?

"Why is the door open?" The man snapped. "There is a draft."

"My apologies, sir – the door must remain open so that the cat may get inside." Severus was unsure of what to do with the tray, now that the coffee table was an inconvenient place as opposed to where the man was sitting. "You could place a charm on it to regulate outgoing and incoming temperatures. I am sure my master will not mind."

Severus settled for guessing the amounts sugar and milk, something he had not wanted to do. He put slightly less sugar and milk than he did with master, who wanted less tea than he did extras.

"Are you implying that you cannot perform magic?" The man spoke next when Severus handed him the cup of tea.

Severus' heart felt as if it stopped. "That is a highly personal question I am sure my master would like for me to keep private." He knew, by saying that, he revealed the truth in some form, but he did not care. Whether he was rendered magicless, unable to use magic, not allowed to use magic, it was his master's business and no one else's. Severus was not about to reveal that to a stranger.

Severus looked over his shoulder, looking to see if perhaps he was lucky and Master came home early; he was not so lucky.

"Excuse me, please, for a moment." Severus backed up to the stairs. "Master…?"

The man curled his lip, smirking in satisfaction, but did not reply. Did not give Severus his name.

Severus hurried upstairs. He felt uncomfortable letting a stranger be alone in the house, but he had to change. He did not want to humiliate his master – or the man – with his state of dress. The robes had been soaked in toilet water, and were now covered and mud. For a house-slave, that was hardly presentable.

He tore off the soiled robes and pulled on another one. He temporarily folded the dirty ones and set them aside, not wanting to bring them back to the ground floor while there was company. Then he hurried back down the stairs, taking effort not to make a disturbing amount of noise.

All the while, he was trying to remember who Master's visitor was. He recognised him; he knew he did, but from where, when?

The man was still seated in the elaborate conjured armchair, right where Severus left him, thank goodness. Then again, what else would he do? Master owned little of great monetary value, save Severus, so the man would not thieve. The man appeared to be quite well off, meaning he had no need to thieve, but looks and acts could be deceiving. Master was wealthy, and certainly did not attempt to look or act anything but common, for example.

"Come kneel in front of me, Severus." The man instructed.

In front of him? Why not beside him? To kneel directly in front of him was an act of worship. It implied attentiveness, interest.

"Are you quite certain, sir?" Severus chewed his lower lip. "Would kneeling at your side not-"

The man's eyes became stone. "Obey me."

Severus did not want to argue with that voice. Master would understand that Severus was only complying with orders, because he was not there to say others. He would recognise that Severus was only trying to be a good slave.

"Come closer." The man ordered, after Severus knelt in front of him, a metre away.

'Why' was a word that did not need to be a part of Severus' vocabulary. It did not matter why; he was just supposed to do it. Slaves could know the word, but to use it, to question your master's orders, even in your head, was a bad sign.

Why get closer to this man, though? Master often said that so that he could comb his fingers through Severus' hair to try to bring him comfort, or to be more non-sexually intimate. Master said for him to come closer so that he could shave him, or pick out the remnants of Master Teddy's porridge that had landed there that morning. Mistress Hermione even had a motive to ask Severus to come closer – she liked to share what she was reading, and to take Severus' temperature with the back of her hand.

But why this man? He had no legitimate reason to ask that of Severus, that Severus knew of.

"Forgive me – I apologise, but I cannot. I will ask my master if it is a punishable offense once he gets home, and should he find it one, I shall be dealt with accordingly." Severus' master was not always right, and that meant he made poor decisions regarding Severus' punishments. Severus, however, could not say anything.

"I must ask you why I should come closer." Severus continued, staring at Master's old carpet, too frightened of the look in the man's eye to view it. "My master has made it clear that I am to obey only him and those that he designates. I do not recall your name, or my master's instructions regarding you, so until I do-"

"You do not recognise me?" The man leaned forward – the sudden advancement made Severus uneasy.

Severus squirmed. "That is not an easy question to answer."

"And how is it not? Either you recognise someone or you do not."

Oh, if only it were that simple. "I can recall you, sir; however your name and the circumstances surrounding our relationship are unclear. I apologise – if you would not mind elaborating, it could aid this slave greatly."

When the man did not respond, Severus looked up.

The man was smirking. "That is all for the better. Come closer, now. You do not have anyone here to tell you what to do. A slave is hopeless and useless without orders, you realise." The man's eyes glinted. "You do not want people to know Harry Potter's slave is useless, do you?"

No, he absolutely did not want anyone to know that. Whether his master cared or not what people thought about him, Severus cared. He did not want people thinking bad things about his master, or his master's slave.

Did this man mean to spread rumours, true or not, about Master? Was it disobeying to listen to this man, when his master said he did not have to? Even if it protected his master, something Severus existed to do? Was the obedience or protection to take precedence?

Perhaps the key word was "have". Master said that Severus did not HAVE to obey others, not that he couldn't or mustn't. It was a loophole in Master's phrasing, to be sure, but it was there.

Severus hesitated, knowing he might be disobeying and was certainly going against his master's wishes. But for his master's reputation, he moved forward. He was close enough for the man to pet him or demand pleasure, but Severus would not let it go that far. He would only allow his master that and those master clearly designated.

The man wielded a wand. It was birch, quite long, and very polished. It looked new, judging by the lack of chips in it.

"Calm yourself." The man ordered. "I am not casting a spell on you. You're not mine to do that with."

Severus relaxed little. Worry indicated a lack of trust in an individual. To worry over having a new master, or worry about what might happen in a situation that did not involve your owner was acceptable. It was unacceptable to worry about, for example, how your master was to punish you – he owned you, and you were to simply trust.

That had gotten harder since he had realised his master was not always right.

In this situation, it was fine to distrust. However, the man's reasoning did make sense – who would cast a curse on a slave that was not theirs?

Severus did not think he was a trusting person by nature, and nevertheless, he knew he did not trust this man. So whole the man spoke, often demanding a response of conversation, Severus kept his eyes on the wand, making sure it did not move.

"How soon did you say your master would arrive?" The man asked.

Severus reluctantly turned his eyes from the wand to the clock. "Any moment now, sir. He may have been stalled at the Burrow if Master Arthur is home. He enjoys his-"

"_Immobulus_!"

Severus fell from being sturdy on his knees to a crumpled heap on the floor.

One could not speak when under an Immobilising spell. They could not twitch, scratch an itch away, and needless to say, they made seizures very inconvenient. They could not move, but they could think, and feel.

And Severus felt a terrible pain on his forehead, as he realised what a terrible mistake he had made in letting the man in, for nearing him. Even through his panic, he realised that he had not known and that the guilt was perhaps not necessary, but that said, he _had_ let him in.

_He was a stranger, and you let him in the house._

_Everyone is a stranger to me! _It was no wonder Severus' master wanted him to lower the Occlumency shields, eventually. This was why.

The groomed man did not make his move directly. He stood over Severus, smirking. "You have really lost your touch, haven't you? A Hufflepuff would not have dared let me in."

Severus had a feeling that was a derogatory remark. Severus knew what a Hufflepuff was, and while he could not remember meeting any, he was sure they were wonderful people. Though perhaps not careful – Master Teddy's mother had been one, and she was dead.

"Idiot Potter left you without defences." The man bent and began feeling Severus up, patting various parts his body. "Not even a wand. Or was he being unintelligent? Is he worried you will kill him or his disgusting child? Or are you non-magical?"

'_Neither'_, Severus wanted to cry out, His face felt wet – the spell did not prevent tears from falling.

The man began muttering under his breath, a spell that Severus could only catch strains of due to the man's choice volume. He was waving his wand in elaborate patterns, an elaborate pattern Severus did not recognise.

And whilst he did not recognise many things, including his own past, he recognised spells he knew.

It took a full minute for the man to stop. "Oh, look, your cat is here. God, that thing's fat."

Gik was _entitled_ to be a bit overweight. She was with child. She had _life_ in her. Mistress Hermione said four, but to be prepared that they might not all make it alive out of her womb, as Gik was rather young. Severus just hoped Gik would be fine. Her swollen nipples were so tender.

"This is what you deserve," the man continued venomously. "You wanted to be on Potter's side? Well, now you are. It is your fault the world is as it is. All yours. Do you like that?"

The man spat in Severus' face; the saliva ran into his left eye. He then walked away several paces. Gik howled. Then everything went silent.

It occurred to Severus within minutes that he could sit up, and why wouldn't he be able to? Why was he laying on the floor like that?

He glanced at the clock, wondering where the past half hour had gone – had he slept it away? His brain felt a fog – he really could not recall.

_Oh, Merlin._ He panicked when he saw Master's milk pitcher and sugar bowl, along with his only proper teacup, in a fire he did not recall starting. Ignoring perhaps intelligence, he stuck his hands in the flames to rescue them.

The pewter was badly stained, as well as the porcelain, but nothing magic couldn't fix. Severus did not feel good, despite the save – how had they gotten in there in the first place? What had he done, and why couldn't he remember?

Severus looked down at his badly burnt hands, but was coming up black. He could not recall… he had been working on the puzzle, Gik being especially moody…

_Gik_. Where was she? She never left Severus for long when Master was not home. Her absence caused him to panic most of all.

"Gik?" He called. Blood was dripping down from his lip – it did not hurt, however. "Gik?"

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell. . .**_**  
. . .Chapter Sixty-Seven: **_**A Line Drawn**_

**A/N:**_Thank you to everyone, whether you just read, read and review, have been following this story for months, or are only just now discovering this story. The readers are a gift to the writer, and I cannot thank you enough._


	67. A New Resolve

**_Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._**

**Chapter Sixty-Seven  
"A New Resolve"**

* * *

"Thanks again." Harry hefted Teddy on his hip. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this." He wanted to offer to pay them, but knew it would hurt their pride. All the Weasleys had were pride, guts, and lots of kids.

"Oh, it's nothing, Harry. In fact, bring him over here all day. There's no sense in paying strangers to watch him when I would love to for free." Mrs. Weasley sadly smiled. "I do miss having children around the house. I don't like being so lonely." Ginny had gotten a flat nearby, a flat that was notably not being shared with a boyfriend.

Harry smiled. "Thanks, but Teddy needs to be around other kids, or he'll grow up to be meaner than he already is- ouch, Teddy, stop pinching me!"

"Stop pinching Daddy!" Teddy laughed and clapped his hands.

Mr. Weasley clamped his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Are we still set for this weekend, Harry?"

_Oops_. Harry had forgotten that Mr. Weasley had wanted to come over. He said he just wanted to visit, but it was probably also to teach Harry some practical Herbology charms, now that spring was on its way. Though Madame Sprout had tried to teach them everything she knew, the lessons had not been entirely practical; most students did not need to know how to re-pot a Gangchili, but needed to know how to keep their gardens bright and green as adults.

"Right. Um, any time before six on Saturday? Angela's bringing curry, and a bunch of people from school are going to come hang out. Well, not like a bunch, but you know. Five. Six. And their girlfriends, boyfriends. Spouses. You know." Harry's place was ideal because not only was Severus more comfortable there, but Teddy could sleep there in his comfort zone. Harry could, of course, leave Teddy at the Weasleys' and Severus home, but he didn't like to do that more often than possible. He never invited people who let parties get out of hand, because he couldn't have those sorts of parties around Teddy and Severus. He felt the ones where everyone got completely smashed were usually pointless, anyway. He didn't like people puking in his toilet.

Angela was the only one who couldn't see straight at the end of Harry's parties.

"Don't you children eat anything besides curry?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Um, fish and chips?" Take-out as a staple in the Potter-Snape-Lupin household, and there weren't a ton of varieties to choose from.

"They're grown, Molly; a lack of vegetables won't hurt them," Arthur said.

"Yes, but what of the protein? Calcium? You should take a dose of Severus' potion, Harry – you're looking a little peeked."

That had only to do with no sleep, but Harry wasn't about to tell them that. "Um, sure. Maybe. Well, goodnight – see you tomorrow."

He Apparated out of their kitchen and into his front garden. Teddy screamed as they Apparated, like he usually did, but quieted as soon as they stopped. Harry assumed Teddy screamed in excitement – maybe you liked Apparating if you were raised on it. Harry didn't like it much at all.

He pulled out his wand to open the door. Despite the fact that the location of his home was in relative secrecy, and the wards he had put up, he locked it just to be safe.

However, he found that he did not need to unlock it, as it already _was_ unlocked.

_Maybe Severus went for a fly._ He was allowed to, as long as he stayed on the property. It made Harry a little nervous, letting Severus fly outdoors unsupervised, but he figured it was best for him to gain a bit of independence.

_But if he was out flying, he'd have seen us Apparate in, and have come to greet us._

_Well, perhaps he flew earlier, and just forgot to lock the door again. _Harry doubted it, though. Severus was very meticulous and careful. He would have locked a door he unlocked.

_You're losing it, Harry. _He let himself inside, and sat Teddy down on the floor.

The sitting room was quiet. The puzzle Severus had been working on sat incomplete on the card table. The pewter milk pitcher and sugar bowl he had taken from Grimmauld Place were on the carpet. Black scorch marks were staining them that Harry was sure hadn't been there before.

Harry knelt down on the floor and picked up the scattered tea supplies, putting them on the coffee table. "Severus?" He called, looking around the sitting room.

"Sev'rus!" Teddy screeched, occupying himself with getting into trouble.

Harry looked at the crackling fire. Harry didn't keep matches in the house, and he had told Severus, under no uncertain terms, that he was not allowed to use his wand. Severus didn't even know where it was; Harry had hidden it in the woodwork under his bed.

_Well, how else would he light a fire? Rub sticks together? _The feeling in his stomach was very unsettling. How had the fire been lit? Had Severus found his wand? There were no other wands in the house – Remus and Tonks' wands were in his vault, to stay until Teddy was older.

And if Severus did find his wand, where was he? Severus was always waiting for Harry when he got home, bowing and politely asking how Harry's day had gone.

_Maybe he ran away. He put his wand in his mouth, transfigured into his Animagus, and flew away._

Harry panicked. "Severus?" He put a warding around Teddy so that he couldn't get into any serious trouble. "Severus?"

The kitchen was immaculate. The kitchen table was scrubbed, all dishes washed and put away. Gik's water bowl was full, on the floor where it always was.

After checking the loo (and noting the toilet's flooded state), Harry began upstairs. "Severus? I'm home."

There was no response. Typically, at the sound of his voice, Severus would come running to Harry. Even during a state of emergency, he would. Even if Severus was feeling guilty for flooding the toilet (something that could easily be fixed), he would come and confess. It was not as if he would-

_Crawl into the closet and hide._ Harry shuddered. The previous night had been terrible. Severus had come so far in behaving like a human being. Yes, the panic attacks came every day, and he still hesitated to do so much as laugh when he knew Harry was around, but he was _so_ much better than he had been almost a year ago. He wore clothes all the time, and ate at the table, with a fork and spoon. Harry could see in Severus' eyes the reluctance to put on his shoes when he went outside, but Severus always did.

However, last night had found Severus in his closet, weeping. Harry hadn't known why Severus found such comfort in the dark closed in space, but he had not gone in there in quite some time. Since Gik's arrival.

When Harry had asked what troubled him, Severus immediately told. Severus Snape, once Head of Slytherin, was now unable to tell a lie. He had a nightmare, and did not want to wake or disturb Harry with his sobs. And he was scared. Harry hadn't asked what Severus was scared of – with a past like Severus', he was sure there were many things. Most of which he knew he didn't know about. And it bothered him to no end.

But they would start to find out. Severus had expressed interest in talking about his problems, and regaining more normalcy. At least, the most amount of normalcy for a slave. Only then would Harry trust him with his wand, and think him capable of perhaps trying a spell or two. It was most certainly a step in the right direction.

Of course only days after making those steps forward, Severus would go missing.

A low growl coming from Severus' room stood the hairs on the back of Harry's neck on end. Though Severus had made animalistic noises at his most feral and wild point, he had not done that in over nine months.

Severus' door was wide open. Harry didn't want to barge in or take Severus by surprise, so he tried to make a fair bit of noise as he approached the bedroom door.

"Severus, I'm-" Harry stopped.

Severus was on his knees, leaning down looking under his bed. He was on murmuring comforts nearly inaudible to Harry's ears.

Another low growl came from underneath the bed.

It was too soon for Gik to give birth. She was not due for at least another three weeks, easily four or five. She was not ready to give birth. It wasn't _time_.

But if she was not giving birth, what was wrong?

"Severus." Harry took a few small steps in the room, not wanting to startle Severus or Gik. "Severus, is everything all right?"

The hooked-nose man looked up from underneath the bed. Tears dripped from his dark eyes, down off his nose and chin. Snot ran from his nose, but Severus did not wipe it away.

Severus turned slightly as to bow in Harry's direction. "Master, how may your slave serve you?" He croaked.

"You can start by telling me what's wrong." Harry knelt down next to Severus. He peered underneath the bed, but from his angle, he was unable to see anything.

"Gik i-is- She-She i-i-is-" Severus blubbered.

Harry placed his hand on Severus' knee. "It's all right, Severus. Is she under the bed? Is she all right?"

Severus took a deep breath. "N-No. S-She is- She's-" He burst into inconsolable sobs.

Harry moved so that he could better see under the bed.

Gik was lying under there, stretched out. Her belly appeared much thinner than it had only the morning, and there was no wonder why; two small kitten foetuses laid cold on the carpet. He did not have to touch them to know they were dead.

The blood stained the carpet was certainly too much to come from one cat. But it seemed like more would come out, as Gik's leg lifted and she continued panting, purring, and occasionally growling or whining. Her fur was stained with sticky brownish-red blood.

Harry looked back up at Severus, and calculated his next words carefully. He did not want to ask what happened, as it would only make Severus feel more distraught, and make him feel as if he were to blame. He did not think it would be a good idea to ask Severus how long it had been going on, or what he thought the ideal thing to do was.

"I am sorry this is happening." He returned his hand to Severus' knee, and began rubbing it comfortingly. "We were all looking forward to the kitties."

Severus bit his lip, and Harry had to restrain himself from telling him to stop – was it fair to stop him from calming himself?

"Severus, I've got to Firecall someone right away. Hermione has a kitty, and Luna knows all about animals. They'll know what to do." He hesitated. "What do you think would be wise at the moment?"

Severus wiped at his eyes. "I do think she would not like to be alone."

Harry nodded, wondering if that was true. Wondering if when Severus had been under some of the terrible pain inflicting his scars, he had wished to be not alone. "Good idea, Severus; you're a really good friend."

* * *

Luna had suggested letting nature take its course, and to feed Gik powdered bicorn horn mashed in shredded tuna over the next 104 hours. Harry wasn't so sure the merits of bicorn horn in a kitty's diet, but letting nature take its course and giving Gik a lot of rest seemed ideal.

Teddy was oblivious to the whole scenario. A true twenty-three month-old child, he was happy playing with his blocks and singing to songs on the radio. He seemed to not notice Severus' tears, and if he did, he was so used to them that they did not phase him in the slightest.

It hadn't taken long for Gik to give birth to the last kitty – there had been five, one less developed than the others. Judging by their identical flat faces, they had Kneazle blood, meaning Crookshanks was likely the father.

Gik was in Harry's room. Shortly after the last kitten was born, she had stood unsteadily up, not even licking the blood off herself, and moved to Harry's room. Harry had explained to Severus that it was not personal, that Gik just wanted to be alone. He had seemed to understand, but it did not stop him from grieving for the kitties.

"She is fine." Harry returned from his room, after checking up on Gik per Severus' request. "She is in my wardrobe, resting."

He sat on the edge of Severus' bed, using his hand to comb back Severus' hair. He carefully avoided Severus' forehead. "I'm sorry this happened. It's very upsetting."

Severus sniffed. It had been a long day, and it was finally time for bed. Severus was either so emotionally exhausted that he would fall asleep instantly, or he would stay up half the night sobbing. Harry was not sure which.

Harry uncorked one of the precious vials of Dreamless Sleep. "I know you said this doesn't work on you, and I'm sure you are correct. But let's try it tonight, okay? Just in case. You will need it."

He did not tip the vial down Severus' throat, though. "Severus, do you want to tell me what happened today?" Between the scorched dishes, the fire, the overflowed toilet, and Gik's miscarriage, he suspected Severus had quite the story to tell.

Severus kept his eyes down as he laid in bed. "No, sir, I do not, but I feel I must."

Harry hoped Severus meant he did not feel like rehashing it, but thought it was a good idea, rather than not wanting to rehash it, but thought Harry was making him tell.

"Gik and I had been working on the puzzle." Severus bit his lip. "We did not finish it."

Harry didn't care about the stupid puzzle. "Why not? What distracted you?"

Severus' voice broke. "I do not remember! Gik was acting especially moody, however I am assuming most cats do during preg-pregnancy. She wanted to go outside. I-I-I was feeling rather like I did not want to."

Severus had actually told a feeling. A past feeling, but a feeling just the same.

"And then what happened, Severus?"

"I do not recall. I remember lying on the carpet, and seeing your good teacup in the fire." Severus' eyes widened, and he sat upright. "The teacup! I forgot-"

Harry stopped him before he could swing his legs out of bed. "It's okay, I took care of it. Is that how you got the burns?" He had healed terrible burns on Severus' hands shortly after getting home.

Severus paused, before nodding. "I-I believe so. I cannot think of when I would have got them before."

A nervous feeling began to creep through Harry, but he was reluctant to admit it even to himself. How had the fire gotten started? Severus only drank tea with Harry, and had he taken to drinking it when alone, he never would have used the antique dishes for 'good'.

"I noticed Gik was gone, and began searching for her." Severus continued, lying back down. "She was in my bedroom. In here." Tears began to trickle down from his eyes.

Harry had cleaned the bloody mess from the carpet, but knew it would be far less instantaneous for the gory intonations to go away. "And she began to miscarry."

"She did not do it right away, but I could tell she was in pain. She-She was not acting herself." Severus sniffed. "Did I- Did I do it?"

_I don't know; did you? _It didn't make any sense that Severus would hurt his kitty, but it also did not make sense for him to throw the tea supplies in the fire. It was out of character for him to do such things. Even had Snape come back, through Severus lowering his Occlumency shields, he would have thrown cockroaches or something.

And Severus would have never lowered the Occlumency shields without permission.

_Unless he did. Maybe he lowered them, had a fit, and had the sense to raise them again. Or maybe he is just using the Occlumency to block the memories of what happened._ It was possible, but Harry was an Auror in training. He was being taught to look at the not just the possible and obvious, but the borderline impossible and unobvious. He was being taught to expect the unexpected, to assume he did not have the whole story.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Harry said. "I know it's hard, but you really must tell me."

Severus bit his lip. "Regardless of what I tell you, Master, are you considering putting your slave in a mental institution?"

Damn McGonagall, or whoever had sent the brochure. They had likely had the best intentions, and had not meant for Severus to see it, but it had lasting consequences. How often did Severus torment himself over his mental state? It didn't take a genius to realise that a good slave was not to be mental hospital material.

"Severus, a good slave doesn't need to go to a mental hospital. No one would suggest it. The reason why is that a good slave has a certain mindset, has been trained to never question authority, and whatever else people like Mering has shoved down your throat. The only reason you aren't mentally stable is because you are in a situation where you are being encouraged to challenge that." Once again, Harry questioned if that was really fair or healthy, but he did not say anything to Severus to suggest his confusion. "The reason you have a lot of mental instability is because of bad owners, and because you are being questioned on some of the things you've been taught. It's not your fault, and it should get better. It has gotten better, already. You don't need to go to St. Mungos, or some other mental hospital."

"Yes, Master." Severus murmured. Harry wondered if Severus believed him. Once upon a time, Severus would look at Harry with shining eyes, a confidence, whenever Harry assured him that something bad wasn't going to happen, or that something good was. That look had left Severus' eyes in recent weeks, and although it could be considered a good thing, Harry rather missed it. It had been a safety net, being able to calm and convince Severus with simple words.

"I remember Gik wanting to go outside." Severus closed his eyes, his forehead creasing. "Shoes felt heavy on my feet."

Now they were getting somewhere. "So you did go outside?"

Severus' dark eyes popped open. "I do not remember! Perhaps I am getting confused with another time. Perhaps my subconscious is assuming that if I put on shoes, they would feel awkward, as they usually do! Perhaps-"

The good doctor, Dr. Brown, had recommended not interrupting Severus, but Harry had to sometimes. Otherwise, Severus would get himself worked up on his tangents.

"Severus, it's okay. There's only so many things that could have happened." Harry paused, thinking the things over that could have happened. "Are you blocking what happened with your Occlumency shields?"

Severus shook his head. "When I block things, Master, I know I am blocking them. I may not know what, essentially, but I know they are being blocked. I am blocking everything from when I first became a slave, back. I could not block anything else, without risking mental insanity. As of right now, the side effects of blocking memories give me terrible headaches and . . . " he rubbed at his eyes, "emotional exhaustion."

Harry wasn't so sure the emotional exhaustion came from the Occlumency, but he did not challenge it. "Well, we will have to lift the shields soon, Remember, the sooner we start practising doing that, the sooner you can begin using your wand again."

The stress of the situation showed on Severus' face, as his face did not light up. "Yes, Master."

Obliviation was not a joke. It was one of the cruellest things that could happen to a wizard. It was right up there with the Dementor's Kiss, in Harry's opinion. Harry would rather die than be Obliviated of all his memories. It was really a testament on Severus' will to survive on how he continually blocked his past out of choice. He would rather be almost Obliviated than tortured by it. However, memories blocked with Occlumency, one could hypothetically get back. Memories Obliviated from one's brain would never return in proper natural form.

However, there were always loopholes. The inner Slytherin Harry preferred to ignore was there always found the loopholes.

"Severus, do you trust me?" That was hardly a dumb question. These days, he wondered if Severus really did.

Severus, however, did not miss a beat. "Yes, Master."

"You said that kinda quickly; are you sure you trust me?"

"It is wrong of a slave not to trust its master. And I have no choice. To distrust you would just add extra anxiety in my life, anxiety I hardly need."

He had a point there. "Look, I don't know a ton about head magic, mind magic, brain activity, or whatever it's called. It takes a specialist to do most head work, in both the magical and Muggle world. So I don't really know what I'm doing, but I need to act quickly, because the longer we go, the more of your memory you could lose."

Severus swallowed hard. "Yes, Master."

The side effects of Obliviation were fatigue, and obviously, a loss in memory. The fog in Severus' brain made Harry suspicious.

Oliviation was always permanent, but thanks to the piles of books on slavery Harry had ordered (and stowed in his room, not wanting Severus to see them), Harry had learned a loophole surrounding that. If a slave was Obliviated by someone other than one of their owners, the memories lost could be brought back in one form or another by the owner. _The Mind of a Slave_, an anti slavery book written in 1898, banned in most European countries, had been most helpful in that regard.

Severus was portraying symptoms of Oblivation. The fog he described in his brain, the fact that he had fallen asleep on the floor twice since five o'clock, even with Teddy crawling on top of him and pulling at his earlobe.

Severus being Obliviated represented a lot of problems. Did he accidentally do it himself through accidental magic? Had someone Obliviated him, and if so, who? And why? What could they have done that warranted measures so drastic? It was uncouth to place a spell, hex, or curse on another person's slave without permission, especially a spell that carried so much weight. It made Harry sick to wonder if the memories erased from Severus' brain would be cruel to bring back, but he had little other choice.

"Um . . . God, I wish I had studied on this. Well, I wish I had studied more about a lot of things, like Potions and- ah, piss it. Okay, ready?" Harry had great faith in mind-healers, but he also knew how powerful his magic could be. Hopefully any damage he caused was reversible.

"This would be easier if I knew Legillimancy, but I don't. Occlumency is mandatory next year in the Auror Training Programme, but I'm not going to be an interrogator, so Legillimency isn't required."

"Close your mind." Severus advised, shutting his eyes again.

Harry shuddered, as memories of Snape came flooding back. "Um, yeah, thanks. I've heard that before. And that helps with Legillimency?"

"Yes, Master."

Harry was screwed. "Okay, um, so I need you to kind of put your mind at rest. I'm not exactly sure what my book meant by that, but I need you to kind of go to sleep without going to sleep. The best way I can describe it is with-"

Severus' eyes remained closed. "Yes, Master."

Severus rarely, if ever, interrupted Harry. It took him a few moments to recover from that shock. "Uh . . . you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes, Master."

"Do you know what I'm trying to do?" Harry knew Severus had never owned a slave before, but perhaps he had experience in drawing out semi-deleted memories.

"I am not familiar with the practise, no. However, if we are not limited on time, perhaps I could read on the subject."

They were limited on time. The longer they went without trying to recover the memories, the fewer memories they could recover, or the more distorted the memory would be.

"_Accio The Mind of a Slave_." The ancient tome floated into the room. "Okay, Severus, it's in here somewhere . . . " Harry flipped through the pages, finding the correct page before handing it to Severus.

Severus sat up, and read the page with pursed lips. Then he bit his lower lip again. "M-Master, it says the ill-effects could be permanent."

Harry swallowed the nervous feeling in his throat. "Oh, yeah?"

"It also recommends against this spell without lots of practise. It recommends using werewolves under Wolfsbane." Severus frowned. "You haven't one of those."

"It's not the full moon," Harry pointed out.

"My rectum is not tender," Severus handed the book back, speaking matter-of-factly. "If that is what you are concerned about, than I am sure they used an excellent healing charm."

Severus always managed to catch Harry off guard. Even though Harry should have been used to Severus speaking about his anatomy in a very matter-of-fact way, it still startled him every time.

"Not everyone is out to rape you, Severus. And no one says that whoever Obliviated you was a man." Harry spoke softly.

Severus nodded. "Yes, Master. Have you checked the magical signatures under the door frame? Surely the warding you have on your home checks such a thing."

Of course it did. Harry had spent hours warding specifically against the magical signature of Voldemort, just in case. He hadn't warded against any other specific magical signatures, as it took far too long, but as his house was nearly Unplottable, he hadn't thought he had much to worry about.

"I could check, but it's not like an image of the people who walked through my door will float up from somehow. I recognise Ron's magical signature, and Hermione's. Ginny's wouldn't take too long for me to privately trace, and I am sure Angela would cooperate to let me get a sampling of hers." The problem with that is that Harry knew they had not done anything. None of them would do something to hurt Severus. "Oh, shit. Nathan Weston. Maybe Ginny can help me."

Severus eyed Harry, carefully. "Yes, Master."

"What? I'm not speaking to Ginny, but she'll still help me." It was an odd situation.

"It is not that, Master, and please recognise that I am only a mere slave, and am likely missing part of the puzzle. However, your name carries quite a bit of weight in this world, and you work at the Ministry for Magic. I am sure, despite any and all legalities, they could figure out who entered your home, without involving the entirety of the Auror department."

Harry loved Severus. He did not know when that love had first began, but likely sometime last summer. He had begun to love and care for him like he would have Ron or Dean were they in that sort of situation. Part of him loved Severus like he loved Teddy, part of him like he loved a friend. He was not sure what kind of love it _was_ exactly, except some type of platonic one. Angela had assured him that it would manifest into something eventually, that she had Seer abilities, but hadn't given him any of the specific details. He hoped she meant it would manifest into a true friendship, because the more of Snape that crept back, the more concerned Harry became.

However, sometimes Harry could really remember why he loved Severus. Loyalty, tears, laughs, and intimate moments aside, Severus came up with the most simple solutions so much easier than Harry ever could have.

"Severus, you're genius!" He leapt off of the bed.

Severus shrank back, eyes wide, but quickly masked his fear into a blank expression. "Thank you, Master. This slave is yours."

Harry wasn't so sure what Severus meant by that, but he let it go. "Okay, I'm serious about not making this a habit, but why don't you drink a bit of Dreamless Sleep and go to bed? You've definitely earned a nightmare free night . . . not that you have to do anything but ask for it any night."

He handed Severus the small crystal vial, who eyed it unsurely. "M-M-Master? I will not have to take this every evening?"

_Have_ to? "Severus, I'm not forcing you. I just didn't think you wanted the nightmares – you haven't had a good night's sleep in . . . " Harry's voice trailed. He did not know when Severus, formerly Snape, had his last good night's rest.

Severus was solemn. "I am not unaware of the, ah . . . habit you have with this potion. I do not want to take your dose."

Harry's stomach turned to ice. _Habit_? That was such a nice word for addiction. Severus was perceptive, but Harry hadn't had a clue that Severus knew about Harry's need for Dreamless Sleep . . . and it wasn't an addiction or habit if he truly _needed_ it, was it?

"I promise, Severus, that I will never force you to take Dreamless Sleep." Harry vowed.

Severus downed half the vial, obviously having had experience with the potion. "Thank you, Master."

Harry wrapped the covers around Severus and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight, Severus; I love you."

Severus' eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time that Harry had ever seen, he laid still in bed without tossing and turning, without Gik.

Apparently Dreamless Sleep did not lose its effect once you stopped taking it full stop. The problem for Harry lied with stopping full stop.

* * *

Harry bounced a bit, getting the shovel deeply into the earth before lifting it out.

It was three in the morning, and he had spent the last three hours going around his property, employing every precaution possible. He did not know how to make a house Unplottable, but he knew plenty of other warding and defence spells.

He had employed all basic security charms long ago, but now removed them so they would not interact with his new ones. The charms he now had around his property were so strong that he had to tweak it to allow birds, insects, and small animals in. He had changed it so that air could circulate in and out of the bubble he had placed his property in, and so that rain could come through (though Severus might have preferred there be no rain, their meagre vegetable garden might have complained).

He had warded against everyone that was not Ron, Hermione, Angela, or Mr. Weasley. He had yet to add George, Luna, and his Gryffindor friends to the exceptions, but the need to do that was not immediate.

The next morning, instead of his morning run, he would go to a bookshop and buy a book that explained Unplottable spells, something that would not exactly be at most bookshops. He couldn't take Severus to work with him, but no longer felt comfortable leaving him home. He didn't want to take Severus to George's or the Weasley's, either.

He didn't have a choice. He would have to Firecall the Weasleys as soon as it was a decent hour to do so.

He reckoned he did not need a six-foot hole to bury five small kittens, so he settled for three feet. He had asked Severus about a bit of a funeral, but the idea had distraught Severus even more than he already was. He had settled for burying them in the dead of night, covering the grave with stones, and perhaps allowing Severus to visit it the next day.

"He would have been bloody fine getting rid of the kittens," Harry muttered as he continued digging the petite grave. "He didn't care about keeping them – you didn't have to kill them."

There was no way Lucius Malfoy had not known Gik was pregnant. It was brutally obvious that she was. And he had done something to cause her to miscarry, anyhow. Bastard.

Knowing Lucius Malfoy had stopped in and out solved some of the mysteries. Gik's miscarriage. The tea in the fire. The fire in the first place. Severus' loss of memories surrounding the situation.

But knowing he had come didn't answer _why_. _Why_ had he come in the first place? To mock Severus? But then why Obliviate him? Had he come to see Harry? Then why leave, just before he got home?

It made no _sense_.

Harry spent quite some time stewing over the whys and the whats, as he finished burying the kitties, and levitated rocks over the grave, just in case any wild animals should want to cause trouble. He imagined the scenarios that could have occurred in his house, of what Severus went through, of what Lucius Malfoy did to him.

It made him sick that Severus felt assured, because there was a fair chance he was not raped. Harry was happy he was not raped, too, but he didn't think Lucius Malfoy was that type. It made him sick that Severus had encountered so much of that kind of perversion and pain. He was reminded many times hourly of Severus' servitude, of Severus' status, but the torture he had been put through? The specifics?

He didn't know the specifics. He supposed many would think that was pathetic, as he had owned Severus for nearly a year now, but Severus had not told him much of what happened, and Harry hadn't asked much. He knew someone made Severus eat insects, and he supposed that had something to do with the spiders scenario. He knew Severus had been under a lot of physical pain, but that was because he bathed him daily, and saw the hundreds of scars littering his body, not leaving one area untouched.

_Oblivate_. That was what a lot of wizards and witches did to fix trauma. Instead of extensive therapy, and much pain, they simply were Obliviated of their trauma. Watching how well Severus dealt his encounter with Lucius Malfoy, having not remembered seeing Gik begin to miscarry, not remembering what pain he could have suffered, he had to admit it made sense.

But it was Severus' life, and Obliviating him of it just wasn't _fair_.

On his way indoors, he stopped on the veranda to survey his garden, his property. He could see silver lines sparkling, looking much like electricity, reflecting the newly placed wards. He could see the grave, with red flowers placed over the stones.

A night's work well done to be sure, but it was not done.

He went into the kitchen and washed his hands, making sure to get the dirt out from under his nails. He didn't bother to get the dirt out of his jeans – he would be changing into bedclothes, shortly.

Severus was sleeping soundly when Harry crept into his room. Gik still wasn't with him, as she was hiding out in Harry's room, but the Dreamless Sleep really seemed to do the trick; Severus had not woken up once, whereas he usually would have at least twice by three.

"_Praevius Incanto_." Harry whispered. He only dared perform magic on Severus when he was sound asleep, and even then, did not do it often.

_Praevius Incanto_, much like _Prior Incanto_, showed the last spells performed. Rather than showing the last spells issued from a wand, however, it showed the last spells placed on an object. It was hardly an intense, interesting affair usually, as the names of the spells only appeared out of smoke in succession.

The warming spell Harry had placed on Severus before bed, wandlessly and subtly, appeared, and vanished – it had been the last spell Severus had had performed on him.

EPISKEY was the next one – the Monster's Book of Monsters had gotten to Severus' toe. Were the book not such a reminder of Harry's third year, he would have thrown it out long ago.

Harry blinked as the next spell was shown. A spell he had never seen before. He didn't know Latin, but nearly seven years at Hogwarts had taught him a lot about the language. He could piece together some words in Latin, and could tell if a word was Latin-based.

He knew his curses and hexes, and his counter-curses. And he knew that spell was not supposed to have been placed on Severus.

The next spell to show was IMMOBILUS, a spell Harry had certainly never place on Severus in his life. And then the warming charm again, which Harry had placed on Severus the night prior.

"_Finite Incantatem_," Harry cancelled all ongoing spells on Severus, vowing to find out what spell that had been. Vowing to get Lucius Malfoy in prison, or worse.

Vowing, for the last time. Because this time, he had the time, was in the position, and had the resources. This time, it was the top of his priorities.

He would do it. Even if he had to talk to Ginny to get enough evidence.

**Coming Up Next in _Unwell_...  
****Chapter Sixty-Eight: **_**It All Comes Down**_

**_A/N: _**_1,000. 1K. Though I honestly appreciate each review individually, it is hard to ignore the acclummative number on the top of the page. Thank you everyone for your kindness, eagerness, and constructive critique, whether you have only reviewed once or the full sixty-six times. And those who prefer not to review, I appreciate you reading, too; I hope you continue to enjoy the story._

_On that note, you are all right that Severus' mother did not Apparate to Harry's home. Though that would have made an interesting plot twist, we killed her off in the third chapter. Thank you for the notices – it is changed!_


	68. It All Comes Down

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. **

**Chapter Sixty-Eight**  
**"It All Comes Down"**

* * *

He could cook something other than porridge. He could put food on the table that wasn't takeout. He could manage more than cold cereal.

Or so Master insisted.

"Shit!" Master exclaimed. He grabbed the pot on the stove, and used the water in it to extinguish the flames.

Severus bit his lip. "Might I help, Master?"

"Shit! No! Oh, fuck!" Master stuck his fingers in his mouth. Severus wondered if he would attempt to stick his whole hand in there. "Actually, yeah, the bathroom cupboard. Healing salve. Burn salve. Oh, shit; blisters!"

Severus stood, and moved to turn off the burner, lest his master burn himself yet again. "Yes, Master."

Master Teddy had been put to bed for a nap a bit ago, and so Master had moved into the kitchen to start supper. Severus had followed, if not to help, to keep his master company. To be honest, he had felt rather wary of his master cooking, but had not said anything; he felt terrible enough by doubting his master in the first place. He should have been grateful to be getting something other than porridge, cold cereal, cold sandwiches, and takeout.

He opened the cupboard above the bathroom sink and frowned. The cupboard was littered with bottles and vials. Some had lids missing, or corks only loosely plugging the top. The large blue bottle was not labelled, and the small container of pink paste was covered in a sticky substance. The box of plasters sat empty on the shelf.

_Reorganise it for your master. It would please him so much to be able to identify his potions without effort. Or perhaps it would just please you. _Looking at the messy cupboard, for whatever reason, gave him a twitch. He knew he was talented with potions; perhaps he was meticulous about their organisation, as well.

With no time to investigate the contents of the bottles or carefully print labels, he grabbed the correct salve and hurried to his master's aid.

Master was running one hand under cold water, the other wrapped in a wet flannel. "Oh, God, thanks. Just, um..."

It was wrong to interrupt ones owner, but if Severus always waited for his master to finish his sentences, he would often find himself waiting. "The hand must be dry for the salve to take effect, Master." He handed his master a kitchen towel.

Master hesitated, before bringing his green eyes to meet Severus'. "I didn't know that. Okay; thanks."

Severus brought his eyes down. Eye contact with his owner implied he was challenging his owner, which was wrong.

He twisted open the jar, and dipped his fingers into the creamy white gel. "It could sting a moment; I do not recall using this brew."

"You were never burned before you moved in with me?" Master asked, as Severus lightly rubbed the salve in a small circular motion over his master's blistery hands.

'_No! Please!' Grasping for a handle. A pole. A piece of furniture. A person. Anything to use to pull himself away from the flames eating his lower half._

_Looking down at his feet. Seeing the bone through the seeping, raw, blackened mess that was the bottom of his foot._

_Closing his eyes, tears squeezing out. Trying to hold out gasps of pain or hisses, but being unable to help himself as the burning wand carved words into his skin._

Severus held his breath. _They are just memories. The Monster is in prison. He cannot touch you again. He does not know where you are. Master will not hurt you like that. If he was like that, he would have done it already; those types of people cannot restrain themselves for a year, like he has._

"I have not used this brew." Severus tried to keep his voice sounding as neutral as possible.

"Oh." Master turned his hands over, so that Severus could rub the salve on the back of his hands. "Yeah, I guess König didn't heal your burns for you."

The Ministry in Germany had tried to heal his burns with a potion; the wounds had only worsened.

Severus twisted the lid back on the jar. "They need to air out, so do not wrap them in gauze."

"How do I lift anything?" Master whinged. "I can't pick up the baby, or cook, or-"

_You cannot cook, anyway. _Severus bit his tongue. "I will boil the pasta."

Master smiled. "Thanks, Severus."

Severus ducked his head, feeling his face redden. "Yes, Master."

"Typically, people say 'you're welcome'." Master sat down at the kitchen table, where Severus had been studying his French textbooks.

Severus bit his lip. His manners were atrocious; Master Mering had never said anything about saying 'you're welcome'. Owners rarely said 'thank you'.

"I apologise, Master." Severus hovered next to the chair he had been sitting in prior to the accident.

Master nodded. "Sit. If you want. Let's talk."

Severus swallowed. _Let's talk_. That was not the worst thing a person could say. 'We need to talk' most certainly meant an error in current behaviour, but Master had not said that. For all he knew, Master was just going to discuss the weather.

"Yes, _Maitre_."

Master's head shot up. "What'd you say?"

Master had encouraged Severus start incorporating a bit of French into actual conversation, to help him become fluent and more confident in his speaking. While one could never be fluent without regular conversation with actual speaker of the language, it would most certainly help.

"It means 'Master'. In French." He paused. "You recommended I begin using French words and phrases on occasion; I thought I would start with the words I learned first, the words I am most comfortable with."

"Oh. Well, leave it to you to be earnest and _still_ sound sarcastic." Master slumped into his chair. "'Master' was the first word you learned in French?"

"Yes, Master."

"Figures. So, um... speaking of burning, and French, and things of that nature, have you given any thought to taking down your Occlumency shields?" Master looked down at his hands, where the blistering was noticeably starting to decrease.

He had given a lot of thought to his Occlumency shields over the past year, but especially so the past few days. It terrified him to think too much about. It sickened him that the epitome of control had gotten so out of control.

Because that was what the Occlumency shields were. Control over what he dealt with. He had no choice but to do deal with the present, but the past, he could ignore if he chose to. At first, he knew he had done it just to survive Master Mering, but he had not used his Occlumency shields to an extreme then. He knew back then, he could still remember his past, it just did not feel real. It had felt distant, rather foggy. He had been emotionally detached from it.

But over the past year, he had forced himself to forget his past almost entirely. He had to. Being around his master made it necessary. Master was a constant presence in his past life, and had made knowing the past miserable. He had felt unable to cope, and had put the Occlumency shields at such a level that he did not have to cope. He could stumble through life, hypothetically, with only headaches and lethargy. No memories.

"I have, Master," Severus said. "I have given it much thought."

"And?" Master leaned forward.

Severus looked down at his hands. "I am afraid."

Master sighed. "I thought you would be. What are you afraid of?"

_Pain_. The mental and emotional pain that taking the Occlumency shields would cause. People were not supposed to use Occlumency to block memories for the reason that it was unhealthy. It was why they were supposed to distance themselves from memories with a Pensieve. The magical stone bowls were not invented to eat porridge in, after all.

"What if I cannot do it?" Severus asked. "What if the shields have existed for so long, they are permanently erected in my mind?" He had never heard of such a case, but he had also never heard of someone using Occlumency for such a purpose so extensively.

"Then we will work around it. You can learn about your past, and maybe we'll see some specialists. We can cross that bridge when we come to it. Unless Death comes and bribes us." Master gave a weak smile. "You know, like the three brothers in the tale of the Deathly Hallows?"

A shiver came up Severus back, but he did not know why. His mind went to the pale face of the Dark Lord, someone Severus knew he had known. He could not help but wonder how the Tale of Three Brothers had been involved – he privately believed the Deathly Hallows existed, but did not want to share that with his master; Master would think him a fool.

"I do not know how to describe to you another fear." Severus' hair fell over his eyes, but he did not move it away; he rather liked it there. "Imagine there are two people forced into one body. Imagine you wake up one morning and learn that your body has been possessed for a year, that for a year you have essentially not been 'home'." That was how Severus felt. His past self, 'Snape' as Master called him, was going to join his slave self in his body. It would really be like to minds joining together, two souls coming together. He did not know this other person, and the part of his mind that knew his past did not know his current self. It was a scary thought.

"Ginny." Master looked up.

"Pardon?" Severus had been lost in his train of thought.

"Ginny was possessed for almost a year, on and off. Maybe once we- never mind, continue."

He hesitated. "These Occlumency shields were a mistake, Master. This I know. I should not have put them up, and for that I apologise."

"No." Master's hands shot across the table and were on top of Severus' before Severus could realise what happened. The sticky salve on Master's palms coated the back of his hands. "No. I am so glad you put them up. We haven't really talked much about the specifics of what you've been through, but there is no way you would be able to come out of it sane. It doesn't matter how strong you were; you would have broken, and there'd be nothing left. You put them up and saved a very important part of yourself. Hell, you saved your life by putting them up. There's nothing to apologise for."

Severus slowly nodded. It was true that he very likely saved himself from insanity. It was good that he preserved himself in that way for his master. "Regardless of whether it was a good idea or not, they are up. And if I take them down, it is possible I could fall into the insanity I tried so hard to avoid."

Master nodded, not removing his hands from Severus'. "It's true. So do we do it slowly and prolong it, and take them down fast, like ripping off a plaster?"

"Prolong the agony and unavoidable, or let the memories and the emotions attached to them fall on top of me like an avalanche? Both sound so appealing."

Master burst into laughter. "I love you."

Inwardly, Severus winced. His master threw those three words around so freely. It made him sick. Was he supposed to verbally return those words? Was it inappropriate to view your master like that? He did love him, but was there a love reserved for masters and slaves? If not, what type of love was it? Did it need a label assigned to it? Severus thought it did.

Master removed his healed hands, and produced a handkerchief to clean his hands, and Severus'. "Well, if you take them down and it's too much, can you put them back up right away?"

"I am not sure; there is only one way to find out." That was unfortunate.

Master nodded. "So tell me about the burns."

"Burns?" Severus looked up.

Master motioned towards him. "The bottoms of your feet. Your thigh. Your left ear."

Severus brought his hand up to the raised scar behind his ear, where Master Mueller had missed with the flog. "That is not a burn."

"Oh, well, I just..." Master reddened. "Sorry."

_He wants you to talk about your experiences since you have been a slave. Has it already been nearly two years? It is late March - it is quickly approaching. Master has owned you for nearly a year. You have never been owned for as long as that. Is it foolish to hope that he will own you forever? _He had hoped Master and Mistress Weston would own him forever, and look what happened.

Severus knew his master did not want to hear about what he had gone through with his past masters. Had he wanted to know, he would have asked long ago. He wouldn't have asked with his head down, with that twitch, had he actually wanted to hear the answer. His master was not asking to be vindictive; he wanted Severus to talk about what had happened with his past masters to help Severus.

The Monster had done what he did, from what Severus understood, to torture him, with every intent on indirectly killing him. He was unable to starve him, slay him, beat him to death; his bodies needed to be dead, but not from murder. If one was tortured to death, wasn't that murder? What made it _not _murder? Owners did not know everything; they were not always right. Certainly The Monster had gone around the twist.

"The Mon-" Severus stopped. That was not his former master's real name; that was _Severus'_ name for him.

But Master did not argue with it. "The Monster. The burns are from König?"

He nodded. "My other owners healed all injuries before selling me. The Ministry in Germany tried to heal me, but could not."

"Yeah, I got the gist of that. Because your owner caused the injury, they couldn't fix it." Master paused. "But if, say, you accidentally burned yourself, you can heal it if you had a wand. Or someone else could heal it."

That was irrelevant; had he been able to heal himself, he still would have needed permission, which he could not have obtained, since few of his torturers spoke English.

"You do realise it's not your fault you got the burns?" Master asked. "You didn't do anything to deserve it. It wasn't punishment; it was torture for the sake of torture. I think it's important you know this."

"Why?" Severus asked. "Why, may I ask? Why is it important?"

Master pushed his glasses back up his nose. "It's the principle of the thing. You didn't deserve it. It's not your fault. I don't want you to blame yourself over it."

Severus was, in the end, just an object. When it really came down to what he was, he was not a person, or a human. He was an object, to be used at his owner's disposal. He was not playing mind games over it, disguising it to be something else. That was what it was. His master burned him. It did not matter if it was his fault or not; The Monster was the type of person who would have done it anyway. He bought Severus for the sole purpose to torture him, and it was ridiculous for Severus to think it was because he was bad.

"I know it is not my fault." Severus assured his master.

"Good. Let down on the lip a bit. So, I mean, you don't have to tell me the details, but can you tell me about what happened at König's?"

Severus released his lip from his teeth. How was he supposed to explain what happened at The Monster's when he didn't know? The nightmares and real-life experiences had long ago blended together; the whole thing had in fact felt like a nightmare.

"I was chained in a corner most of the time." Severus remembered the cool stone against his back. Corners were excellent because you could only be approached from the front; you did not have to worry about attackers coming in from the side. "Whenever I was awake, I was being hurt."

Master's brows rose. "Whenever you were awake? I mean, literally every waking second?"

That did not sound quite right. It sounded like an exaggeration. But in pitch darkness, without sounds or smells to show that he was awake, how did he know if he had been awake or asleep? How could you explain that to someone who had never been there?

"It was... extreme." Severus slowly explained his treatments. "I am sure I passed into unconsciousness during many, if not most incidents. Being able to tell when you were awake and being hurt or being asleep and having a nightmare..."

Master passed Severus his handkerchief. "You thought that you were there for years."

Severus had. It still seemed hard to believe that it had only been months. "There was no way of telling time. I did not even think of it; there was no concept of anything but wanting food, wanting to sleep, wanting to be away from the pain. There was little... emotion."

Severus' eyes were dry, but he used his master's handkerchief just in case.

"You were little more than a zombie when I brought you home." Master spoke softly. "You've done well."

_Baldur_. That had been the big dog's name. The dog that Severus had viewed as a superior. Had he been? An owl belonging to an owner was most certainly superior, but dogs were not even magical. They were perhaps equal, but there was no superiority. What had happened to make him think that was the case?

The packed dry dirt floor. The terrible skin rashes. He had not forgotten how he had been covered in his own waste and the state of his hair when Master bought him. He had not forgotten the worms of incredible length the medi-witch had pulled out of his body several months prior, worms that had caused terrible abdominal pain. Yet, he had not said anything to his master.

A chill came over Severus, and he wrapped his arms around himself. "Thank you, Master."

Master smiled. "You don't have to worry, Severus; you're going to live with me forever. I promise."

_Master cannot promise that. When he finds somebody, weds them, has children of his own, he will not want me to live with him like I am. He will want me as a slave, perhaps, but not a... a... a... friend of sorts. As he gets older and matures, he will change his opinion of things. Do not depend on that promise, Severus. Though he means it now, he cannot possibly keep it._

Master cleared his throat. "The man that came by a couple weeks ago, who hurt Gik... you know he put a spell on you."

Severus did not recall the man Master was talking of, but he knew what he was talking about. A fortnight ago, Gik had miscarried her litter, and Master had buried them in the garden. Severus' hands had been badly burned when he fetched Master's things out of the fire. Master had said he traced a magical signature back to somebody who had apparently let himself in the house and Obliviated Severus; he said it wasn't Severus' fault.

"His name is Lucius Malfoy. I'm not sure if you remember him; he's a bit older than you. He's got longish blonde hair - it's almost white now. He walks like he's got a pole up his arse, and looks down at everybody who's not him." Master frowned. "He was there when Teddy was adopted; he kind of just let himself in the house with Ms. Fields."

Severus remembered very little of when he first arrived at Master's. He did remember the man, however vaguely.

"The shields." Severus explained. "They are blocking anything related to my past. Between that and my... mental state at the time, I cannot clearly remember the time."

"Well, he isn't a nice guy. He slithered his way out of slavery and Azkaban, so I'm trying now to get him in Azkaban. I haven't, you know, made any reports yet, but I'm working with Ginny to get evidence and papers in order; we have to be ready when we go up against the Wizengamot and the wigs."

Severus nodded, pretending he had the slightest comprehension of how this connected to his past and Occlumency shields.

"The spell he put on you was a displacement spell; I looked it up in your, um, personal record" Master flushed, "and in some spell books. It's actually a pretty standard spell pranksters use on, well, objects. If I put it on your French book, you'd probably never be able to find it again; it would always be moving around so you could never find it."

That was a poor example of the spell, but Severus would never tell his master that. The book did not belong to Severus; it belonged to Severus' master. That meant Master would be displacing his own book.

"You have a record of it being put on you twice; on September 2nd when you become a slave, which was in '98. And then the other week. The first spell ended in April of last year, coincidentally the same day the Ministry For Magic in Germany got you. They used _Finite Incantatum _on you, ending a couple ongoing spells, including this one."

Master took a deep breath. "I took the spell off you as soon as I noticed it; you were asleep. I hope, um, you don't mind. I didn't mean to violate your privacy or anything."

Severus had no privacy when it came to his master. It was meant to be that away. To even pretend he had privacy would be ridiculous. "I am hardly concerned about that."

Master cleared his throat. "Malfoy was there when you became a slave – I know, because it was in the papers. He had plenty of chances to put the spell on you. The displacement spell was an attempt to make your life hell. We can't count Mering, 'cause you were going to be owned by him anyway, but you were sold after being owned by the Westons after a few months, and then abandoned by König - The Monster. That could be because of the spell, or coincidence, but I think it's the spell. No one sold you because you were a bad slave, or because you did anything wrong; with the spell on you, it was bound to happen."

Severus was sold by his beloved Master Weston for being used by him. He hadn't had a choice, and it was not his fault. He was coming to accept it. It did not make him feel any better to know it was bound to happen; it saddened him. He had grown attached to the man for naught.

"The number of how many times you've been sold isn't the important part, though." Master said. "I know you think it makes you a lower quality, but since I'm going to own you forever now, it's not important. The important part is that Lucius Malfoy is interfering with your happiness and future. He's trying to make you as miserable as possible, to get back at you."

_To get back at you. Someone is after you. Someone is setting out to make you miserable. _Severus felt his heart drop in his stomach. "What did I do, Master, to make this man so angry?"

Master shook his head. "You always think everything is your fault. It's not always your fault; take it from the leader in this category that you can't please everyone. And as for what you did, you've got to lower the Occlumency shields to find out. Just know that what you did makes me very, very happy." He reached out again and patted Severus' hand.

* * *

Master stepped into the bedroom, and began tucking the covers around Severus' thin frame. "Teddy was asleep, but I am sure he would want me to give you this." Master's lips brushed Severus forehead, before Master moved to shut the drapes.

Master Teddy had gone to spend the night at the Burrow. Master Arthur and Mistress Molly had been kind enough to allow the toddler to stay the night while Severus took down his Occlumency shields, believing Master when he said it would take all night and well into the next morning. Mistress Hermione had offered, but she was so busy with his classes at university, Master hadn't wanted to burden her further.

Tonight was the night. Severus was going to try to take his Occlumency shields completely down. He tried not to pay attention to the row of vials Master had on the bedside table, as they only made the nervous feeling in his stomach worsen.

Master followed Severus' gaze. "Those are just in case. Your heart is very healthy, and your blood pressure on the lower side. We just need these in case something goes wrong; forty isn't old, but old enough to need to take a few precautions."

A few precautions, certainly, but Master had at least three potions that would serve Severus' heart, five that served other vital organs, one to serve the brain, six to serve the blood pressure, three different types of calming draughts, and even Master's precious Dreamless Sleep. "It seems a bit... excessive."

"I think I'm just as scared as you are." Master admitted, sitting down next to Severus. He pointed at the perch that sat next to the window. "Are you sure it wouldn't be any easier in your Animagus form?"

"If you want to guarantee a brain aneurysm, certainly." Although his emotions as a bird were not as strong, his magic was not either.

"Shit. Sorry. I guess I'm making you more nervous than to begin with." Master fumbled with pulling his wand out of his pocket.

Severus reached over and handed his master a calming draught. "I do believe you may need this more than I do."

Master sat it back down on the bedside table, taking a deep breath. "No, I think I'm okay. Just... Just worried."

So was Severus, but he was not about to burden his master with his worries. "What are you worried about specifically? Perhaps I can calm you."

Master exhaled. "Well, for one, Snape. I mean, the old you never really liked me much. I didn't like him - I mean, well... I didn't like you that much then, either. And I'm scared once he comes back, or you know, once you take down the shields, we won't be friends anymore. I'm scared I'm going to lose you." Master's voice cracked, and he suddenly became very busy organising the vials on the bedside table.

Severus watched him. Master did not want him to return to his old self. Severus knew he had not been a kind man, but he hadn't realised his master was so worried about it. How mean had he been? He couldn't have been such terrible company that he made Harry Potter of all people need to block his tears.

He looked down at the image on his left forearm and shuddered. It took a terrible person to consent to having such an image imprinted upon him.

"Master, I am the same person, in the end." Severus tried to sound soothing, but was not sure he succeeded. His master soothed him daily; he had no experience in having the roles reversed. "The experiences I have had will change the person I was. Regardless of past prejudices towards you, I will always see you as my master. I will not forget anything you have done for me, anything we've done." He paused, wondering what his Gryffindor master needed to hear. "I can never hate you. No one in my current life has ever loved and cared for me as you have. Perhaps no one in my life; I do not wish to judge those who I do not remember."

Master sniffed, still hiding his face from view. He pulled his glasses off his vase and began wiping them on his shirt. "I am being a pansy, sorry. You've got to think I'm ridiculous."

"I will not tell anyone." Severus assured him. "Who have I to tell? You have seen me in more compromising situations than anybody."

Master snorted, turning back towards Severus. "Yes, but you don't care if anyone sees you cry."

He did care if it embarrassed his master. "I don't if my crying does not embarrass you, but I have been paraded in front of hundreds of people in naught but my skin; once you are owned by someone and have had experiences like that, it changes your perspective on things." He wondered if he had been embarrassed over things like that before his slavery. As a grown man, he certainly had to have been.

"Yeah, guess it does." Master cleared his throat. "So, you're sure you're ready for this tonight? You don't want to, you know, wait until next weekend?" Severus could only take down his Occlumency shields on a Friday or Saturday night, when his master did not work the next day.

If he backed out now, however, what would keep him from deciding that next week was not opportune either? It was not something he would _ever _feel like doing. He wanted it to be done, but wanting to do it was something else entirely. The longer he put it off, the more difficult it would become. He was afraid of many things that could happen when pulling down the shields, but none of them could be prevented; there was no sense in procrastinating, letting those fears manifest into something larger than they were. There was no sense in waiting, as there was nothing time would buy him.

"I live to please you; if you think it would be best to wait, then I shall."

Master groaned. "Yeah, and guess what? I live to get your opinion on almost everything, especially when it's about you. I mean, if we wait, it would give us more time to _prepare_..."

Severus tilted his head. "What is there that we need to prepare?"

"Well, you know... stuff." Master sighed. "Okay, I'm stalling. I'm a staller. How're we doing this? Is it going to be like peeling away layers, or knocking down a wall, or-"

Was Master feeling all right? Severus looked to make sure the man's skin was not developing a green tint, that his eyes were unclouded. "It is going to be like lowering a shield, Master." They were not called Occlumency walls or Occlumency layers, but shields for a reason.

Master flushed. "Right. So, do you want to hold my hand or..." Master awkwardly grasped Severus' hand.

_You cannot pull away. That is rejection, and you cannot reject your master. Severus_ looked down at their hands. "I do not suppose I could be alone."

Master jerked his hand away. "You mean alone-alone? Alone the whole time? Alone while taking down your shields?"

How could that be interpreted any other way? Uncertainly, Severus nodded.

"No!" Master said. "No, absolutely not. I'd be too worried about you. You could, like, bite your tongue off in an emotional seizure or something."

Severus had never heard of an emotional seizure, and he was pretty sure no one else ever had, either; his master had a knack for coining words no one would ever use but himself. Then again, Severus was the one who had named the cat Gik, which he recently learned was a slur in some countries.

"I am worried, that since my former self disliked you, I could try to harm you." Severus spoke gently, trying to persuade his master. "I would never want to harm you. In fact, harming you would cause me to die instantaneously. However, in the state I may very well be in, I could be unable to control it."

Master shook his head. "You won't hurt me. You're not that kind of man."

How did Master know what kind of man Severus was? Did they know each other well? Severus was not sure he shared his master's confidence, and inquired about it.

"You weren't a nice man at all, but you were a good man; you lied about student's grades on their papers, while putting the actual score in the scorebook. You threatened to kill Neville's toad, but never harmed him. You threw a jar of cockroaches at me, but as you have never failed to mention, I've got a big head; had you intended to actually hit me, you would have. Look at me."

Severus lifted his eyes to his master's, wishing he could be looking anywhere else. He did not like to look in his master's eyes when he ha been trained that it was wrong; he did not like to see his master being so confident over his former self's morals.

"Now, Snape didn't tell many people much; no one alive knows your favourite food, or what your Exploding Snap winning streak is. You never told anyone if you had a familiar or what it was. The only reason I know your allergies is because it's printed on your fact sheet. You didn't tell many people anything personal about yourself, but shortly before Voldemort died, you let me know some stuff. Stuff hardly anyone knows. What you told me is why I trust you; you'll know what kind of stuff it is once you take your shields down." Master put his hand back over Severus'. "Trust me."

_Trust me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. _Severus shuddered. The feeling of not knowing your past while someone else did was miserable. It was a feeling that, once one felt they never forgot, and if they haven't felt, would never understand.

Severus lied back, settling into his pillows. "I am ready, Master."

Master's grip tightened on Severus' hand. "Okay."

He shut his eyes.

_"I said the truth and they were mad! I do not know what I did wrong! Master is going to be angry! He-"_

_"Kind of ironic for a Death Eater to be a half-blood."_

"_You are not trained well enough to be bought just now."_

_"Just lie back and think of England. Make this as pleasurable as you can and I might not find it necessary to punish you..."_

_"He was a Death Eater and not under the _Imperious _as he claimed. Malfoy is capable of convincing the Ministry of anything – I imagine he had innumerable people that he was threatening to blackmail, or whose memories were tampered with."_

"_After the defeat of the Dark Lord, it is no longer a spelled Mark, but a mere permanent design on the skin."_

_"Severus Tobias Snape, under the charges of murder, rape, following You-Know-Who faithfully for twenty years, amongst other charges, is being convicted and sentenced to a lifetime of servitude to the Wizarding population."_

_"The students will not think any less of you for the events that happened last year."_

"_Potter, look at me!"_

"_And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"_

" _Read it, control it, unhinge it.__ Legillimens!"_

"_Harry Potter... Gryffindor!"_

"_It is that time, Severus; I implore you to behave!"_

"_Hide her, hide them all. I beg you!"_

_A dead body. A beautiful woman, lying dead on the floor. Perfect, immaculate, red hair framed around her shoulders. Her green eyes were open, staring into space. Staring through you, rather than into you._

"_Mudblood!"_

"_We could be like that, Sev. Like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers! You wouldn't have the hard job, don't worry; I'm the one who'll have to do everything backwards - and in heels!"_

"_It's the girl across the river! Her name is Lily Evans, and she is in my class, and she's a witch! Mum, she really is! And she's a girl with red hair, and she's _my_ age!"_

"_That's what you get for not listening to me, boy! Next time, you'll think twice about acting out! Next time, it won't be your dog!"_

"_There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight..."_

"_Severus? Severus, look at me! Severus, open your eyes! Look at me!"_

"_Look at me." Green eyes. Beautiful green eyes. Lily's green-_

"_Open your eyes! It's Master! I need you to open your eyes, Severus!"_

He opened his eyes to be greeted by a bright light. Once the light was removed, he could see eyes. Lily's eyes. Framed by glasses.

Panic filled him. _Potter! It's Potter! What am I doing? Where am I? In bed with Potter nearby! What does he think he's-_

As a burning pain hit his forehead, the realisation hit his mind._ You're a slave. Potter's slave. Master. He's Master. Your master. The master who feeds you, clothes you, kisses you goodnight. The master who buys linguistic textbooks, and jigsaw puzzle. Rubik's Cube. Master Teddy. Teddy. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. Theodore Remus Lupin..._

"Severus," Master's voice quivered. "Bring the shields back up. _Now_."

* * *

"Sssh." Harry rubbed small circles into the man's back. "Ssh, it's okay. You've been okay for months; it's only going to get better now."

The sobs did not cease. It was four-thirty in the morning, and all he had done was whisper comforting things into Severus' ears, rub his back, and douse him with the sinus headache potion he certainly needed after hours of crying.

It scared Harry how many tears Severus had. There were few breaks in between sobs. He would sometimes be quiet for a few moments, only to break out in choking sobs or even worse, scream. Harry didn't know what to do, how to comfort Severus as he relived his past, and connected them with the past year and a half. He tried to be comforting in every way he could, but Severus' eyes scared him. He had looked into the eyes of a cold Cedric Diggory, the soulless nut Bellatrix Lestrange, and the Dark Lord Voldemort... and yet, no eyes scared him more than the red-rimmed eyes of Severus Snape.

"We love you. It's going to be okay." When Severus did look at Harry, he sometimes looked happy. Other times he looked angry, or miserable. Harry couldn't help but wonder who he was seeing; was he seeing Harry's mum, who he had loved? Was that why he looked happy, or miserable? When he looked angry, was he seeing Harry or Harry's dad? When he saw Harry, was that when he was looking happy or miserable?

He could not wait for Severus' sobs to stop, for dawn to come, and yet, he never wanted it. Because when Severus finally ran out of tears, the real work and confrontations would begin, work and confrontations he knew could very well leave them alone in their own cold, lonely places. He was scared for Severus, and even though he knew it was completely selfish, he was scared for himself, too.

**End of Book One**

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...  
Chapter Sixty-Nine:** _**Book Two:**_ _**Time Spent Apart **_

_**A/N:**_ _First of all, I would like to apologise for such a long wait in between chapters. I found this chapter particular challenging to write, rewriting four times until I found it satisfactory. You might have noticed awhile back that I moved the original marking of 'end of book one'; it now fits better here, and so the second half of the story begins.  
Greenling and GreenEyedPirate have agreed to beta the story, for which I am very grateful. Thank you so much.  
Thank you, everyone, so much for staying with me. Today marks the second-year anniversary of "Unwell". Two years is a long time to write, and follow, a fanfiction, so I appreciate it very much. It is so easy to stop reading a story, to give up on it, and if you're reading this, you never have with this one. That means so much, and I genuinely want to thank you!_


	69. Book Two: Time Spent Apart

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**

**Book Two:  
Chapter Sixty-Nine**  
**"Time Spent Apart"**

* * *

Beautiful music poured out of the radio. Beautiful music with no words. Harry was pretty sure it was the flute. It could have been the piccolo.

He had looked into getting his radio fitted with a Muggle cassette player, but was told casettes were becoming a thing of the past, and to try a compact disk player. The plastic pieces had looked pretty flimsy to him, and once told how they could scratch, completely discarded the idea. Teddy occasionally summoned things through childish accidental magic, and had strong teeth that could no doubt splinter the plastic into pieces, rendering it useless, and perhaps dangerous.

Harry felt like he was so distant from the world he grew up in. He wasn't sad about it, but it did feel weird.

He had found a Wizarding station that played the type of music he was looking to play; classical. The kinds with no words. He heard read that classical music could be soothing, and that it had positive effects not only on recovering trauma patients, but small children. It was a win-win idea,

Teddy didn't seem to notice the music. He was quite content in toddling around, getting into stuff. He liked his toys, and wrecking havoc around the house. The music rarely intrigued him, though he did bop up and down if a more upbeat tune played.

Severus sat, stone still, in the corner. From his position on the floor, he could see out the window. And he stared. He did not shift, and rarely blinked. Harry had thought he had brought home a zombie, but now was starting to wonder if he was a corpse instead.

"Hey, Severus; want some chicken? It's good. I made it myself, and I haven't sicked up yet." Harry offered his plate in Severus' direction.

Severus did not even indicate that he heard Harry.

He sighed. Severus hadn't spoken in a week. After a full twenty-four hours of crying, he had developed a temperature. A potion lowered it, and as a result from all the crying, Severus slept for another twenty-four hours. He had stayed in his room for another day, alternating sleeping and crying. Since being coaxed out of the room, he did nothing but sit. Whenever Harry tried to coax him to come to the dinner table or get in the bath, Severus ignored him. He followed Harry into the loo or his bedroom upon insistence, but did not speak; when given the opportunity, not even a whispered 'yes, Master' escaped his lips.

Harry felt like a piece of him was worn out.

"Wotcher, Harry!" George stepped through the Floo. He was carrying a crate marked with a bold orange 'W'.

George had asked Harry to try a few of his prototypes. He was more tentative about them than he used to be, after Fred's death. He insisted on having multiple guinea pigs before marketing his products; Harry was one of the unfortunate guinea pigs.

"Just set them in the pantry." Harry motioned to the kitchen from his position on the sofa. "What are they, some sort of Gargling Draughts?"

"No, they are Gagging Gr-" George stopped. "You look like you lost your best friend."

Well, he kind of had. Nothing could replace Ron and Hermione as his bet friends, but he and Severus had had a special relationship, he thought. He had never been a part of a master/slave friendship before, but he didn't think it was like the friendship they had. They were like... family. Special friends, and now it seemed like it was over.

George's eyes went from Harry to Severus, who was huddled in his corner. "Um, we have an argument?"

"I wish." Harry muttered. Right now, being told he was an arrogant, big-headed, fame-seeking prick from Severus would be welcome.

George motioned to his own forehand. "Um, Harry, it's kind of-"

"-yeah, I know." The Mark on Severus' forehead stood out. Instead of being pale against his skin, barely visible, it was pink. Inflamed. The pain had to be excruciating; every time Severus ignored Harry or hesitated to follow him, it only would get worse. Harry's touch would cure it in a moment, but he wasn't going to risk Severus' reaction by getting that close to him.

He knew he needed to be patient. He knew Severus was going through a lot. He knew he was probably sad, and maybe mad, too. He knew Severus was dealing with those feelings in the best ways he felt like he could, but knowing it didn't fill the void. He just wanted to know what Severus was thinking, and how they were supposed to move forward from that point. He wanted to know so that he could plan, and he couldn't know unless Severus told him. He had failed Divination, getting a T on his exams; he was not a mind-reader.

"Um... I'll drop just drop these off in the pantry, eh?" George awkwardly moved into the kitchen.

The clock said that it was time to put Severus to bed, but Harry didn't particularly feel like fighting him to do it. He had never struggled so hard to get Severus to obey before; if Severus was feeling particularly obstinate, a simple 'I'm disappointed in you' was enough to send him over the edge. Now, all the looks and statements in the world did nothing to shake him.

Harry stood, and followed George into the kitchen.

George, having put the crate away, was in Harry's refrigerator, helping himself to Harry's Butterbeer. "He okay?"

Harry took a Butterbeer for himself, nearly shutting the refrigerator door on his friend. "It's the Occlumency shields."

George raised a brow. "I thought he took 'em down."

"He did." Harry sighed, "And now he's being a grouch. Or he's just sad. I'm not sure which."

George popped the top off of his Butterbeer, and sat on the table. "You tried talking to him about it. You're a big advocate of that, talking to mental people even though they don't answer."

It was true. Harry had spent months having one-sided conversations with Severus. The problem was that now he knew Severus was capable of more. He was ignoring him. He didn't want to be annoyed by it, because he wanted Severus to have rights, but it annoyed him anyhow. He didn't feel like Severus had the right to ignore him and brush him off, not because Harry was his master, but because of all the things Harry had done for him.

"It's like he is leaving me outside, cold, alone, in the rain." Harry downed half of his Butterbeer.

"I dunno about that, Harry; he looks pretty alone and friendless, too. Snape isn't exactly the conversational type, more like the beat-you-over-the-head-in-silence type." George tossed his empty bottle into the rubbish bin.

Maybe that was it. Severus was mad because he was Severus Snape. _Snape_. Snape was back now, and he was mad at Harry.

"You look pooped." George commented.

Harry blinked. He had been so consumed in his thoughts that he hadn't heard George properly, he was pretty sure. "Come again?"

"You look pooped. Tired. Sleepy. Exhausted. Fatigued. Weary." George grinned. "No wonder you got an A in all of your oral work at school. You've got to be inventive with your words; it makes things sound more interesting. Wait until you've got to start making speeches at the Auror department. For once, little Ronnie-Wonnie comes to me for advice. It makes great bargaining material."

Harry didn't want to think about work. He had run up and down hills, for hours at a time. He had been climbing up trees, dodging _Stupefies_ by instructors, squeezing into small holes, and setting up ward boundaries. They were things he had done a couple years ago to an extent, but not packed into a twelve hour day.

"I've got to write a twenty-seven inch report on the social and economic effects of using alternatives to the Killing Curse on criminals." Harry moaned.

George hopped off the table. "I'm not here to listen to you whinge like a first-year, Harry. In return for your faithful service, trying out Weasley Wizard Wheeze's products, I will do you a favour. Pack Severus a bag, and let me take him home. Get you two away from each other, let you get some sleep. You can come to my place tomorrow night, and take him home. We'll have a party of sorts."

Harry would be too tired to do anything including sleep the next night, but didn't say it. "Teddy can come?"

"Bring Angela. I'll Owl Hermione, Lee, and a couple other people. I'll send Ron a Howler... ouch! Don't hit me! I'm kidding! Be careful; you could find a vomiting pasty in your next sample crate."

Harry lingered in the kitchen. "I don't know if being around a ton of other people will be good for him right now. I don't want him to think I'm abandoning him or anything by sending him to your house. I don't want-"

"Harry." George interrupted. His brown eyes were serious. "I know we don't like to think this way, but the reality is that you own him. You've got a little kid, and are in the Auror Training Programme. You're exhausted, need a couple hours of sleep, and he's not making that easy. He can choose to make things easier for you, and he's not. You can tell him to go with me, and he won't have a choice. It's something neither one of you wants to do, but you've got to do something or you're going to screw up bad. Maybe at work or something with Teddy... you need sleep."

All he could do was think of Severus' eyes. Not the Severus who moped in the corner, but the one he had lived with for nearly a year. The one with trusting, dependent eyes, filled with nothing but care, love, and admiration. He didn't want to send him away, even if just for a night; it would break the old Severus' heart.

"He'll be okay; I've got the space in my flat for him. I can give him something to work on in the back of the shop tomorrow, where there are no customers and hardly anything explodes." George put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I don't think you realise how terrible you look."

_I don't think you realise it's got nothing to do with Severus._ "Fine. Severus!" Harry strode into the sitting room.

Severus did not look up from his lap. _Figures_.

"You're going to go stay the night with George."

Severus looked up. His eyes were wide, fear evident in them.

"You're going to go there to sleep, and do whatever you do here." Harry began summoning the necessities for Severus to take with him, such as a nightshirt. "Nothing bad, I promise. I'll be over to pick you up tomorrow. But you need to stop your moping, or quiet thinking, or meditating, or whatever it is you've been doing over there for days. And I need time to think - not over anything bad! You're still always gonna live with me. I just got to think of what to do next."

* * *

Severus forced himself to take deep, slow breaths, as opposed to the shallow, quick ones he was inclined to breathe. He was all right; there was nothing to be afraid over. He was a grown man, forty-years-old. His life was in the hands of one arrogant, often irresponsible Harry Potter, but who had not harmed him once in the past eleven months. He had not harmed him in any way comparable to the torture he had suffered in his life. There was no reason to think he would put him in the hands of someone who would hurt him.

He could feel George Weasley's eyes on him, and so deliberately looked down at his feet. Bare feet. He liked to walk around without shoes. He hated shoes. They were unnecessary weights added to his feet. It was rather ironic, as before September 1998, he had not stepped outdoors a day in his life without shoes on.

"It's okay, Severus; the flat doesn't bite. Some stuff inside it does, but as long as you don't stick your fingers inside anything, you should be good. For the most part." The young red-headed man had left the Floo, and was standing inside his one-room flat, motioning for Severus to step inside.

Severus examined the room carefully from his position inside the Floo. The floors were wood, the walls unpainted. The many windows had orange drapes, many curtain rods lopsided or crooked; they were inconsistent, as some drapes were open and some were closed. Twins beds stood on opposite sides of the room. Identical furniture and bedspreads stood opposite each other on each ends of the room. In the centre of the room, markings were on the floors and walls, indicating there had been a wall separating the room into separate rooms once upon a time. A small table stood over the former wall, along with cupboards and a living area set.

George Weasley followed Severus' gaze. "Yeah. That was Fred's room. I, um, got tired of the wall awhile ago. It was tough. When you can't see inside the room, it's too easy to imagine he's in there sulking, or with a girl, or tinkering without me..." He shrugged his thin shoulders. "I'll probably put the rest of his stuff in storage someday... or give it to Bill and Fleur when the baby is born. That's kind of a long time to keep your dead brother's stuff though, isn't it?"

Severus did not have a dead brother, or a dead sister. His mother had been unable to have children, after her accident. An accident that would have never happened if not for her husband. Had he not drank so much, they would have been able to buy potions to cure her of the illness that killed her.

"Would you feel weird wearing Fred's things? I mean, not the fluorescent colours, but other things. Things that suit you better, like button-up shirts and dark trousers. You're skinny enough. I know you're from an earlier generation, but wearing robes all the time is just uncomfortable."

What was he babbling on about? Severus did not have a choice in whose clothes he wore, or where his clothes came from. He did not have a choice in whether he wore clothes at all, as much as he wished he did. That was one of many things he was taught by Master Mering, that his appearance was to be whatever his owner designated,

_Master Mering_. His name had been Nigel. Nigel Mering. He had insisted that he would break Severus, and he had. He had to the extent that whenever Severus thought of him, he thought of him as Master Mering. He had nearly forgotten his first name had been Nigel; to Severus, he was a former master.

"Well, if you want to stand in the Floo all night that's up to you, but why don't you at least eat something first?" He moved to the cupboard and pulled out milk and cereal. "I like the kinds of cereal with lots of colours."

Why would someone eat a meal at ten at night? Severus had not eaten in days, but if he did have an appetite, he certainly wouldn't want to eat shortly before going to bed.

_You do not always have a choice. If he demands you eat, you must eat_. 'Why don't you at least have something to eat'? Was that an order? The line between what was an order and what was a suggestion had significantly blurred since taking down his Occlumency shields.

Weasley... Master George was what Severus felt inclined to call him. But that was not what he had known him as only years prior. He had known him as Mr. Weasley, as one in of the troublesome Weasley duo. It was his fault that the man was missing an ear; Severus himself had cursed it off.

He brought his hand up to his forehead and swiped at it, trying in vain to rid himself of the pain.

"Harry says that you're feeling kind of grouchy. That's good; you're known for being grouchy." Master George took a healthy bite of his cereal. "But it's stressing Harry out. Harry likes you so much, and it hurts him to have you ignore him. He misses you."

_Well, too bad. He should know I am not going to want to have inane conversations at this point._ He couldn't help but think it was a bit selfish of Potter- no, Master. It was confusing, to think of the man as two separate entities. Part of him wanted to spit on him, the other part of him wanted to sit at his feet and worship him. It was all so twisted, it disgusted him. He did not understand it; how was he supposed to explain what was going on inside to anyone, something he knew they expected?

"It's good for people to have time away from each other. I used to get so sick of Fred sometimes; I used to hide in the attic and play pranks on the ghoul just to get away from him. It's the same for you and Harry right now; you need time away from him to figure out what's going on. The only difference is that you don't have an attic with a ghoul to hide in." The contents of Master George's mouth were displayed as he spoke; the sight turned Severus' stomach.

He spent so much time away from him. Severus spent hours every day alone with Gik, while he was at work. In the evenings, if he did not want to be around him, he could sit in a corner and absorb himself in a book, or in his thoughts. He did not need time away from him; he needed time. A lot of time.

"You smell." Master George commented as he got up from the table. "When's the last time you took a bath? You're still afraid of showers, right?"

_Water. Water on the head. Rain. Water in your eyes, plugging your nostrils, filling your mouth, filling your ears..._

Master George pulled the covers back on the bed. "Harry gave you your pyjamas, right? Just slip them on and get into bed, I guess. If you've gotta piss, the pot is through that door. Um, if something goes bump in the night, we're above the shop, so it will have something to do with that. If you, I don't know, get scared, I'll be sleeping across the room. Just holler - I'll keep an ear out for you." He motioned to his one ear, and beamed.

Severus was becoming certain that his head pain came from two sources; his disobedience and a stress headache.

* * *

There was not any in his bedside table drawer. There was not any on the top of the bedside table, or on the dresser. The windowsills were empty, no longer littered with them. There were none hidden amongst his shorts drawer, none tucked in the pocket of his dressing gown. The crate in his closet was empty.

_Take a deep breath, Harry. You're okay. You've got half a vial. That's standard dosage. You'll be okay._

It didn't slow his heart rate any. As he looked at the crystal vial in his hand, he shook.

He was sure he had more Dreamless Sleep. He had ordered three months worth only a month ago. He was supposed to have plenty left. He had gone three days with sleeping the other week, when preparing for his trial class. He had to have plenty somewhere, but where did they go?

He triple-checked the windowsills, where he typically had full vials lined up. But they were bare.

_You can Owl the apothecary in the morning. Half a vial is enough to maybe get you to sleep. Not enough to keep you asleep, but ten minutes is better than no sleep at all. And maybe you won't have trouble going to sleep. _That was a farce; he could never go to sleep, due to racing thoughts. He could never stay asleep, due to nightmares.

_Your problem is that you order three months worth by apothecary standard, not by your standard. Drinking three vials a night is six times the amount you're supposed to be taking. That means you run out six times faster._

With a shaky hand, he downed the smooth contents of the vial. Then he pulled off his dressing gown, laying it over the trunk he kept at the foot of his bed.

He crawled into bed, and waited. He waited for the drowsiness to hit him, to fall into a deep sleep. He waited for the lack of sleep to catch up with him, to hit him, to run him over. He waited for his worries and thoughts to dissipate as he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

He tried to assure himself that he was so overtired that it was too hard for him to sleep, but it was hard. He wasn't a terribly good manipulator; he couldn't trick himself into believing what he knew was a lie.

**Coming up next in**_**Unwell**_**...****  
****Chapter Seventy:** _**A Little Jealous**_

_**A/N: Thanks again for all your continued support, and kindness!**_


	70. A Little Jealous

**Disclaimer: ****_I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._**

**Chapter Seventy:**  
**"A Little Jealous"**

* * *

Harry ducked, trying to blend in with the crowds of people walking down the halls of the Auror Department. There were always Aurors walking this way and that; sometimes, they had criminals or suspects with them. A wigged Wizengamot man walked by, and shot Harry a dirty look. A woman with wild hair and strong body odour, through herself at Harry in sobs, and it took two grown men to pry her off.

_After the War, everyone decides to come out of the woodwork. Great._ Harry moved down the corridor to the counter. Just when you're wanting to join the Auror Department.

"Excuse me." He cleared his throat as he approached the desk. He raised his pointed hat a bit, hoping that perhaps once those behind the counter saw his scar, they would pay him attention.

It worked. "What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?" An older woman asked him.

He spoke in a low voice so that people around wouldn't overhear him. "I need to ask about the punishment of Death Eaters who served the Dark Lord between 1970 and May of 1998."

She looked at him over her spectacles. "I see. And which one are we speaking of?"

"No one in particular." Harry quickly said. "I was just wondering, is slavery a guaranteed thing for every Death Eater, or is Azkaban an option? The Kiss? Is Obliviation, de-aging, and adoption really the new procedure?" The thought of a baby Lucius Malfoy living in the world made him sick.

The women sighed impatiently. "That is just a rumour that the rest of the Ministry seems in no hurry to dispell. I would appreciate it if you would do your part to discourage it. At this time, there is no potion that deages a person. Honestly, were it an option, don't you think thousands of women worldwide would be using it?"

Harry hadn't thought of it that way. "Sorry. But I'd really like to know the standard procedure."

"I am well aware that you have one of those slaves, and I regret to inform you that it is an irreversible spell. Even if we were to change our procedures, the ones in slavery would remain slaves forever. I am sorry if you had hoped otherwise, but I do not make the rules." She leaned forward and spoke quietly. "I am very against the treatment; I thought we should have had them Kissed, and been done with it."

The Kiss was terrible, but after spending so much time with Severus, Harry couldn't help but think in _some_ cases, it might have been preferable. "I am not looking to have Severus' sentence changed - he is punished for the time he was a Death Eater, not a spy. He made those choices, he realises what he's being punished for, and I think has accepted it. No, I just want to know what the procedure is _now_. Say someone brought in one of the missing Death Eaters today, and he was found guilty; what would his punishment be?"

"That would depend on what the Wizengamot decides at the sentencing, but the Kiss, a life sentence in Azkaban, or a life of slavery is common. There was one man who was sentenced to serve at another Wizarding prison, but his case was different, and the extreme measures of Azkaban unnecessary." She coughed. "I am not permitted to share personal details."

"Doesn't matter, cause I'm not asking anything personal." Harry glanced at the clock. Despite how sore he was, he wanted to run the track several times before going to pick Teddy up from the Burrow. He was going to pick up Angela before going to George's.

"Mr. Potter, if there is a follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named out there going unpunished, you are required by law to report it."

Harry just nodded. "I know. Thank you; you have been very helpful."

He felt like, despite whatever someone did, the slavery punishment was cruel and unusual punishment. It sounded okay in theory, but once you saw the aftereffects, it sounded less okay. He would never put anyone through what Severus had been through, not even Lucius Malfoy.

_He could have escaped it if he had just left Severus, Teddy, Gik, and I alone. But he chose not to. Now it's personal, and I'm not responsible for the sentencing. If he gets a terrible punishment, it's no one's fault but his own._

* * *

"Sev'rus!" The small child reached out for Severus.

Severus froze when he saw the man holding him. It was Master. Master Potter. Harry Potter. Potter's son.

Part of him wanted to kneel and greet the man. The other part of him wanted to vomit at the idea.

_"Sssh. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I'm here. I love you. It's okay."_

_"There's no need to call me 'sir', Professor."_

_A kiss brushed against his forehead, a day's worth of growth scratching against his skin._

_An exploded potion. A glare. Arrogant posture. Snide comments in corridors._

"Hello, Severus." His eyes were bright behind his glasses. "How was your day?"

They were standing in the back of Master George's shop. There were several apprentices nearby, levitating objects into crates. Master Teddy was squirming, trying to get down.

Severus knelt down, touching his forehead to the floor. The sense of the relief that came through him was well worth the humiliation he felt at the display; he could feel the pain on his forehead begin to dissipate.

"Sev'rus!" Master Teddy screeched. He squirmed out of his adopted father's arms, and ran over to Severus, wrapping his arms around him.

He jumped up and back on reflex. Severus did not like children. Children did not like him. He did not have children of his own; he had taught children since the young age of twenty, and had hated each one. They were miserable brats.

He looked down at the turquoise-haired child, whose mouth and nose were deformed to look like a duck's bill. An ear was missing from the side of his head; he had no doubt encountered Master George only moments ago.

Somehow, without being able to smile or frown with a duck bill, Severus could tell the child was sad. Confused. The look in his eyes said it enough.

_You love him. You love him in the proper way for an adult to love a child. How could you not? _He was not sure why he loved him, but he knew he did. He had too many fond memories of building block towers for the child to knock down to convince himself otherwise.

He bit down on his lip, trying to gauge his next move. He had never held Master Teddy before, in his arms. The child had sat in his lap numerous times, but to actually stand up, supporting him in his arms? Was he allowed to?

_Why wouldn't you be allowed to? Don't be ridiculous. You don't need to ask permission to hold him._

_But do you? Is it worth messing up? Is it worth having an owner angry at you? Is it worth having someone who controls your life angry with you?_

_You were one of the first ones to see him after the Dark Lord's demise. You saw him go from a malnourished child to a grown man. And now you have to ask if you can pick up a child._

_It is _his_ child. Regardless of the authority, you must ask._

He looked over at his master, who looked intently back. He did not nod, or shake his head. He did not shrug his shoulders, or give any indication of an answer.

_If he wants you to put him down, he will say something. He will not hurt you for it._

_"Stupid slave! _Crucio_!"_

Severus shuddered the memory away, and knelt down to pick up Master Teddy; he was gone, having long toddled over to one of the boxes on the floor to investigate.

Master came over, a handkerchief in hand. "I've really got to buy you your own box of these."

Severus reached up to feel his face; he was crying. Why was he crying? He was a grown man, forty-year-old! He did not _cry_, most certainly not in a public place. The child lost interest; it happened with children. It was not as if he felt rejected by Master Teddy. But then why was he crying?

"I... um, Severus? I don't want to be bossy, but um..." Master shifted on his feet, awkwardly. "You're bleeding. Your lip. Stop biting on it."

When Severus released his lip from his teeth, he indeed tasted the familiar iron taste of blood. Why did he bite his lip like that? It was a coping mechanism, to be sure; when had he started doing that? Why couldn't he stop himself from doing it?

Master put the offered handkerchief up to Severus' lip; it took everything Severus had not to step away and snap at him. He was not a child. He knew how to apply pressure to a bleeding wound. If he was so set on humiliating him, why couldn't he just demand he take the handkerchief? He did not have to do it to him; it was degrading.

_Master loves you. He wants to make you feel safe. He's used to helping you like this. He's not trying to humiliate you at all; he's just trying to help you where he can._

_He is always trying to help people where he can. He needs to stop focussing on himself in many areas, but he also needs to stop focussing so much on helping others. It is nauseating._

Master led Severus to a crate, and had him sit. "It's okay; look, I don't know what the problem is right now, and you probably don't want to talk about it with everyone around... but remember how we talked about sharing feelings? Do you want to think about how you feel, so you can tell me later?"

No, he didn't. He was not going to explain his emotions to Harry Potter.

_You are not allowed privacy. You are not allowed to shut doors between your master and yourself without permission. You are not allowed to conceal anything, including actions, thoughts, and feelings._

He could only feel the tears falling harder; after years of training himself to show no emotion, he could not stop himself from crying. And to add to the confusion, he could not even figure out why he was crying, exactly.

Master leaned down, speaking quietly in his ear so that only they could hear. "I know the past few days have been rough on you, and you probably aren't acting like anything because you don't know how to act. But I'm really proud of how you're handling it. Really."

How did he know how Severus was handling it? Severus had not said anything to indicate how he was handling it at all. He did not question the man, though; he just nodded.

His nostrils were assaulted with the strong smell of raspberries.

A blonde girl had come into the room, and was running her hands over Master's shoulders. "I was wondering where you went." She gave a smile in Severus' direction. "Oh, hello."

Severus clenched his fists. He carefully controlled his breathing, trying to withhold any outward expressions of anger. Severus was in no position to throw a fit, to speak in a clipped fashion to the woman. As much as he wanted to give her a left-handed compliment on the way she dressed, he found himself unable to speak.

* * *

Dutifully, Severus rolled the ball back to Master Teddy. It was an inane task, but it kept the child satisfied.

_Teddy. He said to just call him Teddy. Why can't you think of him as that? Don't think of him as Master Teddy or Lupin's spawn; think of him as Teddy._

"Sev'rus! Throw ball!" The child screeched, planting the ball back into Severus' lap.

Severus looked at him levelly. "Yes, Teddy." He rolled the ball again.

He was not feeling how he thought he would have after taking the Occlumency shields. He had thought he would be angry. He thought he would have been throwing things, or spouting terrible things. He thought he would be angry over the fact that after years of servicing Lily, he became a slave to her son. He thought he would gear himself with a wand, and set out to kill those who had found it wise to violate him.

He felt none of that. He had been in terrible pain for days following taking down the shields, both physical and emotional. He had been hurt over his treatment, hurt over how his 'friends' had neglected him, hurt over how he had acted for months. But now, he almost felt nothing in regards to it. He felt empty. Incredibly empty.

He had expected conflict within himself. He had expected to refuse to call Harry Potter 'Master'. He had expected to refuse to do any of the things he had been trained to do. Yet, it was ingrained in him, even though he had let his past self in. Bowing to strangers was no longer a habit, but it did not feel foreign. While walking through the joke shop nude would no doubt feel embarrassing, he was sure if his master put him up to it, he would do it.

He no longer felt sad, or overly confused. Just empty. He wished he could make himself have more of a reaction, as he had not only expected it, but his master.

_I thought you stopped wishing for things years ago._ He had, but somewhere along the way, he had started again. It was just one of the many things that had changed about him in the past months,

"Hey." Master came over with a plate of food, from the table where Master's friends were eating. "Why don't you try eating something? I'll take Teddy."

Severus looked down at the plate; it had the most bland foods on it Master could have managed to obtain. A plain potato. Vegetables with no salt. Meat with little seasoning. Apparently Master thought several days without food was enough for seasoning to upset his stomach. Severus didn't particularly care; he had no appetite.

"Thank you, however food hardly sounds appetising right now." Severus did not accept the plate, but rolled the ball for Master Teddy again.

Master did not move. "I don't care. I know you're upset right now so don't feel hungry, but Hermione was telling me about starvation mode. The longer you go without food, the less hungry you feel. It isn't good for you, though. At least eat the vegetables. And the potato - potatoes are vegetables."

_Really? I hadn't a clue._ Severus tilted his head. "Is this an order?"

The green eyes were hard to read. "Yes. Teddy, come here! Time for supper!"

Severus looked down at the plate Master sat in his lap. His stomach turned just looking at the food. When someone underwent emotional pain or shock, it made eating a challenge. He did not feel like he could swallow, or hold down the food, let alone enjoy it.

_You have eaten decomposing rats. Eating a bit of vegetables is nothing compared to that. And just like the rats, you haven't a choice._

He glanced up at his master. He was sitting at the table with about six or seven people, including Master Ron, Mistress Hermione, and Master George. He wasn't paying any attention to Severus.

_You could just pour it into the rubbish bin,_ he reasoned. _Amidst all the people's leftovers, he will never know it was you._

_He swiped at his forehead. You cannot do that. He must obey him; he is only doing it for your own good._

He scooped a bit of the mashed potato onto his spoon; he no longer grovelled like a dog. He carefully put it into his mouth, wishing he could use his Occlumency shields to ignore the rough though even texture of the food.

It was shortly after consuming his food (eating only the vegetables, including the potato) that he realised he had to use the bathroom. He looked over at his master, who was still preoccupied with conversation and his friends, paying no mind to Severus, who was sitting alone on the sitting room floor.

_Go to him. Go to him and ask if you can use the toilet. You don't need to disturb the conversation, or distract anyone. They will not even notice you're there. He will not have to get up; tell him you can manage on your own_. Though he had only rarely entered the bathroom on his own in the past year, he was sure he could use the toilet without adverse effects; the terrible reminders a toilet brought him were minimal.

He stood slowly, his joints so much stiffer than he remembered them being only five years ago. He hesitated before putting his plate into the rubbish bin, not wanting to waste the meat; though he was not hungry, the idea of wasting food was ridiculous. He was inclined to tuck the carefully cut up pieces of meat in the pockets of his robes, just in case he got hungry within the next several days.

_The meat will start to spoil, and smell. You are not even hungry, why save the food? He is not the Monster, nor is he Master Mueller. He will not take the food away from you._

Severus swiftly picked up the meat from the plate and stuck the pieces into his inner pocket before his master could spy him. He didn't know why his forehead burned so at the action; it was not as if he was stealing food that could be otherwise consumed by his master.

He took quiet steps into the kitchen; his bare feet welcomed the cool tile. He wished he were several feet shorter, so that no one would notice him as he approached his master. The best types of slaves were the types that went unnoticed, much like house-elves.

_Of course, Severus. You cannot be an inventor of defensive spells, you cannot teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, you cannot brew potions, own an apothecary, or teach brewing to children. You are a slave, and you are determined to be the best you can be. Wonderful_. The conflicting thoughts created a headache separate from the pain on his forehead.

He bit his lip as he got closer. Was he supposed to kneel at his master's side, or just bend down to speak into his ear? There had not been a door shut between them, so he did not _have_ to kneel under normal circumstances. But you are asking something from your master. That requires kneeling.

He took in a deep breath, and knelt at his master's side. "Master?" Severus whispered, hoping his master would acknowledge him quietly without a fuss.

His master smiled down at him. "Hey." He spoke loudly enough so that everyone at the table paid attention. "Did you eat all your food?"

_No, but I saved it all._ "Ah... no, Master. Just the portions you required."

"Good. Thanks." His master reached out and stroked his hair back; the affectionate gesture made Severus inwardly cringe.

_Why? Why does it sicken you? He is showing his love for you. If being loved sickens you, perhaps you have reevaluating to do. It is not as if you are worthy of being loved._

Severus cleared his throat. "I must use the toilet, sir, with your permission. I may go on my own, so to not further distract you from your conversation."

"Oh, Severus..." Master's smile faded. "It's good that... um... Going on your..."

"I'll go." Mistress Di'Angelo stood. "I'm finished eating. You finish eating Harry; we've got it." She smiled at Severus.

_No, Master; really. I can do it on my own._ Were he to encounter a bidet, he could see needing assistance, though he had never heard of someone drowning in a bidet before.

He was in no position to argue, however, and followed the woman through the door of the bathroom.

Master George's bathroom was quite quaint. True to his favourite colour and his hair colour, his toilet, sink, and bathtub were orange. The mirror spoke in riddles in terms of your appearance, and jokes littered the toilet paper. Severus had been afraid to use it the night before, worried it had been cursed with an itching or haemorrhoid spell.

He lifted his robes and sat on the commode, hoping to finish quickly so that his master's lady friend could return from the unpleasant task to visiting.

She was paying no attention to Severus, however; she was checking herself out in the mirror. She was straightening her unders, and reapplying her lipstain. He would have thought she had forgotten he was there, but she spoke. "Did you enjoy your time here last night? It had to be much less tame than the time you spend at Harry's."

Severus hadn't enjoyed the previous night. He had stayed up, gazing at the enchanted ceiling twinkling with stars. He hadn't been able to get but snatches of sleep, over thinking about his master, and Master- no, Teddy. Just Teddy.

Severus rarely conversed while on the toilet. It was not a place many people had conversation, he was sure. "Master George is very kind."

"Oh, of course he's _kind_." She flipped her hair to the opposite shoulder. "You know, the way you've been acting the past week really has Harry out of sorts. It's been a right pain in the arse."

If Master was 'out of sorts', what did that make Severus? "I apologise for that; I do believe it is Master's hope that we find our footing within the next several weeks."

She snorted, while using her wand to curl her unnaturally thick lashes. "That's ridiculous."

Awkwardly, Severus stood, and reached for the chain to flush the toilet's contents. He could not use the sink while Mistress Di'Angelo was standing in front of it.

"It's inconvenient for Harry and his family for you to act like this; at least the way you were, he wasn't walking on eggshells around you. God, if I had a slave like you..." she rolled her eyes as she checked her teeth for bits of food, "Let's just be glad you're not mine. Yet."

_Let's just be glad you're not mine. Yet._ He hadn't realised the two were that serious. How could he have been so blind to it? How self-centred was he that he did not notice that his Master was potentially planning to wed?

_Don't be ridiculous. He would have told you if he was planning on proposing to the chit._

He gritted his teeth as the pain on his forehead upgraded from intense to searing. He swallowed hard, trying not to empty the little contents he had in his stomach; the nausea he suddenly felt, combined with the dizziness, would have been unbearable had he never felt it before.

Mistress Di'Angelo sighed, stepping away from the sink. Her stiletto heels made loud tapping noise on the orange tile. "Would you hurry up? I'm not going to stand in here all day, babysitting."

The flat grew emptier after awhile. Master Dean Thomas and his fiancee left while Severus was using the loo. Masters Jordan, Wood, Ron, and George soon went down and into the streets of Hogsmeade to settle a Quidditch score "like men". Mistress Ginny had stated that she was drowning in paperwork (while exchanging a look with Master that Severus hadn't missed), and that she needed to return home.

That left Mistress Hermione, Mistress Di'Angelo, Master, and Master Teddy. And Severus, though he was sure they hardly knew he was there.

"Honestly, sometimes he just makes me want to scream." Mistress Hermione was helping Master clean the kitchen area of the open flat.

"Men are like that; food, sleeping, and sex." Mistress Di'Angelo was still sitting at the table. "Except for Harry; he's different." She sweetly smiled.

Severus' gag reflexes had become very strong while being owned by Master Weston, but they were beginning to fail him. Apart from her sugary sweetness, he hardly understood why being told you were different from other men was a compliment; what he would _give_ to be just like any other man. Master did not eat obscene amounts, was rather a prude even when Severus did spy him being intimate with Mistress Di'Angelo, and Severus had never witnessed him sleeping. Even though he was different from other men in those ways, Severus would never embarrass him by announcing it.

_You love him. You love your master. Even though he is the spawn of James Potter. You love him for his kindness, for how he treats you. You trust him innately, even though you do not like what he does sometimes. If you were not a slave and could therefore humiliate Master like you once did, would you say what Mistress Di'Angelo just did? Not if you loved him._

Master Teddy was chasing Crookshanks throughout the flat, screaming shrilly. It made Severus feel rather glad that Gik had been left at home; her health was still rather delicate, and she needed a break from Master Teddy's constant energy.

Mistress Di'Angelo stood up, taking long strides over to Master. She wrapped her arms around him, distracting him from his work. "I love you," she softly said.

Abruptly, Severus stood. "Excuse me, Master; may I step downstairs?"

Master turned. "Downstairs? Like, into the shop? It's closed, and it's dark; wouldn't it be kind of freaky to-"

"My intentions were to stay in the back room." Severus edged towards the door, his bare feet hidden by his long blue robes.

"Um..." Master appeared distracted, and it was no wonder, as Mistress Di'Angelo's hands were roaming around his chest - right in front of Mistress Hermione and Teddy! "Um, sure. Okay. Just, um... be good."

As Severus shut the doors and descended the stairs, he could hear Mistress Hermione comment, "Someone's a little jealous."

* * *

Harry found Severus sitting on the wooden steps that led from the back room to the flat above. He sat beside him, waiting for Severus to finish awkwardly bowing on the steps before speaking.

"Are you okay? You look kind of green." He broached the topic.

Severus returned to sitting on the steps. "I apologise, Master. I am well."

"No, no; don't lie to me. You're not well; people who are well don't look the way you look. You look like you lost your best fr-" He stopped. George had told him that the day before, and it had hit home. When Severus had been sitting and pouting for days on end, he really had felt like he lost his best friend. Now he was feeling a bit better as Severus resumed normal behaviour, but he had selfishly never considered Severus; maybe Severus felt like he lost his best friend, too. He couldn't view Harry the same way he had when he knew their history.

"Gik is fine. I am happy she has time alone tonight."

Harry blinked. Of course Gik was Severus' best friend. He didn't view Harry as his friend, but as a superior. And his pain in the arse.

Severus was purposefully avoiding Harry's questions. Harry was getting better at detecting his Slytherin manoeuvres now. If only he was better at detecting other things; Hermione had sent him down to talk to Severus, saying that Severus needed some one-on-one attention. If she said so - in Harry's experience, Severus was wary of one-on-one experience.

He reached out and placed his hand over Severus', ignoring the way Severus' muscles tensed at the touch. "Is something wrong? Well, you know, wrong-er? I hoped you were having fun." Severus never socialised with Harry's friends, but only Crookshanks and Teddy. One would have thought he was miserable without company of those his age, but prior to lowering the Occlumency shields, the company of Crookshanks, Gik, and Teddy had brought a lot of smiles to Severus' face.

Perhaps it was another thing that changed with the Occlumency shields.

Severus brought his free hand up to rub his temple. "It is not necessary for a master to worry over a slave's entertainment. I do not exist to have a good time."

"You do in my world." Harry said. "Hermione thinks you might be, you know, a little jealous that I've been spending so much time with Angela lately." Harry felt himself redden; he hoped Severus was oblivious to quite how much time.

"I love you, and want you to be happy and comfortable, but don't know what to do." Harry tried again after Severus didn't respond. "Is there any way you could help me with that?"

Harry bent over backwards for Severus in a way masters didn't usually do for slaves. He brought home presents and treats when he had to go out of town for the Auror Training Programme, and made sure Severus had sources of intellectual entertainment with French books, jigsaw puzzles, the Rubik's cube, the radio, and more. He gave him small chores, like sweeping and dishes. He didn't know how to give Severus friends his age without buying more slaves, something he was opposed to doing, but he would try almost anything else.

"I do not know anything right now," Severus softly spoke. He brought his sad eyes to meet Harry's.

Harry tightened his grip on Severus' hand as Severus continued to speak.

"I remember everything, but that does not change anything. I have no rights, and am entitled to nothing. I've no desire to do anything but serve you."

"I don't believe you." Harry flatly said. He couldn't imagine having such a simple inane goal as your sole goal in life. Harry had many goals; he wanted to become an Auror and catch the potential next Dark Lord before it was too late; he wanted to transform the Ministry; he wanted to put Lucius Malfoy in prison; he wanted to be the best adoptive father he could be to Teddy; he wanted to get married and have more children; he wanted to sleep; he wanted to help Severus be happy and healthy in every way.

He had many goals, and was only nineteen. He couldn't imagine how Severus could only have one.

"I cannot lie to my master." Severus said.

"I wasn't accusing you of lying; I just can't believe what you just said. You've got to have more goals than that. Isn't getting your wand a goal?"

Severus nodded. "To better serve you."

"You don't want your wand for personal security? You don't want it to feel safe?"

"I trust my master to keep me safe." Severus simply said. He looked down at his fingernails, picking at the jagged edges.

"Do you?" Harry leaned closer, and spoke quietly. "Then why do you have strips of meat in your pocket?"

Severus drew back, his eyes widening in horror.

Harry never took both eyes off of Severus, if circumstances permitted. Out of his periphial vision, he always made sure he knew was Severus was up to. He knew when Severus had a runny nose or an itch; there was no way he would have missed hoarding food.

Severus did a lot of that. Severus spent much of his free time in his Animagus form hiding food in the rain gutter on the roof. Much of the fall had been spent searching under Severus' bed, looking for the source of foul smells. He couldn't blame him; Harry had once gotten smacked with Uncle Vernon's belt for smuggling biscuits into the cupboard, and had hoarded food under his floorboard in the summer before fourth year. But on the other hand, Harry hadn't been guaranteed his next meal at the time. Severus had been with Harry long enough to know that Harry would never take food away from him, ever.

"I'm not mad that you did that, because you feel like you have to. It's just something else we have to work through. But can you honestly say you trust me fully if you do that? Or are you just saying that because that is the safe thing for you to say?"

Severus seemed to see something very interesting about the step below him. "Ah... it is what I was taught to say. And it is true. I do trust you. It is just... it is not personal."

Harry held out his hand, palm upwards. "Let's throw out the meat. I promise you, if you're ever hungry, tell me and you'll get something to eat."

Severus hesitated, before placing up the lint-covered pieces of pork in Harry's hand.

Harry closed his fist around them, planning to banish them to the rubbish bin in the next available moment. "It is hard for you to watch me with Angela, isn't it?" He was not entirely oblivious to the way Severus acted around his girlfriend. Angela said that Severus was used to sharing the attention only with Teddy, and that he would have to adjust. Hermione even said that Severus was obviously jealous.

Severus took a few moments to speak. "In a sense, yes."

"You'll get used to it, I promise." Harry wanted to squeeze Severus' hand, but it was full of meat. "I love you. I love you just like you are, with or without Occlumency shields. I'm not expecting you to recover from the shock overnight; really."

Severus took a shaky breath. "Yes, Master."

"Master. Severus, you don't have to call me that. You know that. You can call me Harry; just Harry. I know it's against the law, but what they won't know won't hurt them. Us."

"The law is not the issue; it goes against the enslavement curse. I am not allowed to. I apologise if that isn't the answer you wanted to hear, but even if I wanted to call you... call you..." he struggled, "_Harry_, I could not."

_Harry. Harry._ He couldn't remember ever hearing the deep baritone voice saying his first name, when not mocking him. Snape had always called Harry 'Potter'.

"But you _can_," Harry persisted. "You just said it."

Severus rubbed at his forehead. "I can say it in context. I can tell people who my master is. I can say the name. Just not when addressing you."

"You've never tried." Harry pointed out. "If you opened your mouth and tried to say 'Harry', would no sound come out?" He hadn't remembered any books on slavery saying that. Then again, he retained little from what he read. Hermione called that being a Gryffindor boy. Harry hoped that was a good thing.

Severus shook his head. "If I could get past the pain in my head, I could say it. But would it be worth the effort on your part it would take to touch my forehead at constant intervals?"

Not 'would it be worth the pain I would suffer', but 'would it be worth the effort on your part'. Severus had taken the Occlumency shields down, and he still put Harry first. Out of habit, out of duty, or was there another reason?

"No. I wouldn't want you in that much pain. Maybe we could..." Harry sighed. "We'll think of something. Your head." He pointed at Severus' forehead.

"The design is very attractive; the design changes depending on whom the owner is. It must make you proud."

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself when he noticed the corners of Severus' mouth very slightly upturned.

_Go with it. Treat him like you'd treat Ron, or Seamus, or another friend. Just gentler._ "Yeah, you're gorgeous. Listen, your head has to be killing you. Can I touch it, or..." A month ago he would have touched Severus' head without permission, without second thought. Now, he felt like without permission, he would be invading Severus' privacy bubble.

Severus tilted his head, brushing his hair back so that Harry had access to his forehead. The inflammation hurt to look at. "You needn't ask. I am yours to touch if you will."

"It doesn't work that way." The skin was at burning temperatures under Harry's hand. "Don't act like it does."

Immediately, the temperature began to dissipate, and the skin began to flatten. When Harry removed his hand, the Mark was no longer red but white, nearly matching Severus' skin tone.

"Better?" Harry asked.

Severus nodded. "Much better. Shall I throw away the meat now? I am sure you would like to rejoin your friends."

_Over my dead body._ If he trusted Severus and handed him the meat, Severus could tuck it in his pocket again. They didn't need rotting meat tucked underneath the carpet. "I want us to go home. Why don't you go get your overnight bag and say goodbye to George and Crookshanks? I'll get the baby."

Severus finally smiled, showing his decayed and broken teeth. "I think that is a wonderful idea."

**Coming Up Next In _Unwell_...**  
**Chapter Seventy-One: currently untitled**


	71. The Verge of Collapse

**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**_

**Chapter Seventy-One  
"The Verge of Collapse"**

* * *

The vegetable garden was beginning to flourish, as spring's natural temperatures began to warm. They had all sorts of food that they would be able to eat, were Master able to cook them properly.

Some of the things they grew, Severus was wary of. Master had obtained the seedlings from his very good Ravenclaw friend, Mistress Lovegood. Severus remembered her first Potions class in 1992 very clearly; it was the first time he had not known what to say to a student. It was the first time a first-year had argued with him – and so sweetly, as if she hadn't had a clue that you weren't supposed to do that.

He swiped at his forehead, before realising that the soil covering his hand would end up on his forehead. He froze, his heart pounding in his chest.

_It is all right; he makes you take a bath every evening. He won't be angry that you're dirty. He was the one who said that if children aren't dirty, they aren't playing hard enough. Surely that applies to slaves and their work; if a slave is not dirty, they are not working hard enough._

Unfortunately, though that made sense, owners didn't always see it that way. They did not care that their slave might have spent the last hour groveling in the sewer; they still wanted it to look presentable.

_It_. Severus yanked another weed from the earth. _It_. _You are very comfortable to referring to those in your position as an 'it'. Not even by the right pronoun, by 'he' or 'she'._

But what was the point? He was only generalising, and slaves were only objects. Technically, plants were either male or female, and nobody said 'look at her blossoms'. They were '_its'_.

He glanced over to the house, through the window. He could see Master sitting at the table, a frown on his face. He couldn't see the expression on Mistress Di'Angelo's face to gauge what was occurring indoors. He hoped Teddy was asleep in his soundproof room, in case the two began arguing, which wasn't his business, of course.

'…_keep his overly large nose out of other people's business._' Severus resisted the urge to grit his newly regrown teeth.

But it was true. It wasn't his business what his master was doing. It did not have anything to do with him, and even if it did, it still wouldn't concern him. Once again, he was an object. His curiosity wasn't only unnecessary, but it was a wrong. A proper slave would only be concerned with the task at hand.

Severus inhaled sharply as the pain on his head further increased. Over the past several weeks, his head had begun to hurt worse than he could remember. The Mark on his head was consistently swollen, so that Master had to touch it a couple times a day to relieve him. It was a sign of his disobedience, to the thoughts he had been trained to not think of. Bringing down the Occlumency shields had all but destroyed that.

_You overthink things. Yes, you disliked Master years ago, but your head only hurts when you begin to feel guilty about it. You are curious about what they are up to, but it only begins to affect your Mark when you remember you shouldn't be._ It always ended up as his fault; for once, he wished the blame would lie with somebody else.

"Well, it's hard to pronounce, for one thing." Master's voice floated out the open window.

"It is not. It is very simple to pronounce; I'm sure even Teddy could manage it if he tried," Mistress Di'Angelo defensively said.

Master snorted. "I bet he couldn't. How old were you when you could first pronounce it properly?"

"I spoke very coherently as a child."

"Well, maybe you're the exception; I don't know many two-years-old, but- okay, Teddy is the only one I know, but I'm sure that even four-year-olds would have trouble mentioning 'Di'Angelo'."

"It's a good thing Severus isn't a child then, Harry. God, you need to stop treating him like one. He might be fragile, but he doesn't need doted on."

Severus' head burned, and he quickly moved to the next bed. Without Occlumency, he couldn't block conversation. He was capable of only distracting himself from the conversation. The use of Occlumency on any level was prohibited by his master, and for good reason.

It was an hour later that he finished the weeding. Knowing that it was nearly time to eat, he stood, biting his lip as he looked down his filthy robes.

_He is the one who said you could work out here. He gave no special instructions in regards to how to keep your robes clean. It's all right; as long as you clean yourself up before you touch Master Teddy or try to cook supper, you will be fine. People get dirty when they work in the garden._

But slaves were always supposed to be at presentable as possible, especially when company was present. Though Mistress Di'Angelo was over more often that Mistress Hermione or Master Ron, she still counted as company.

Severus went up the verandah steps, and took care with the door handle to not dirty it. Though his bare feet were dirty, they did not leave prints on the carpet as he went into the loo.

His appearance was almost comical. His face bore a striking similarity to the chimney sweeps he had occasionally spied in Manchester as a child, and his hands were caked with soil; the scars when the Monster had cut off his fingers were invisible under the mud in between his fingers.

Without going to his master, there would be no way to get fully clean without a bath, without water. It would take magic to clean himself off, and even then a bath would be necessary later on.

Several months ago, Severus would have been afraid for his master to see him so dirty, not wanting his master to think he was a poor slave. He would have been terrified of punishment. Now, he would be ashamed for Master to see him like he had rolled in the mud; he didn't want give Master's girlfriend another reason to mock and laugh at him. He did not want to risk trekking mud into the kitchen. Though it was just a simple spell or two, Severus did not want to bother his master, who already did so much for him on a regular basis.

_How do you get so dirty pulling weeds, anyhow? _He bit his lip, looking down at the sink tap. With a bit of hand soap and much water, he could get the mud off his face and hands. His feet, though it would take either a balancing act or flannel, could also be cleaned. His robes could be changed upstairs. It would take less than fifteen minutes, but time was not the issue.

_It is water. No one else is here; no one is going to stop up the scene and push your face in. You are not going to drown in it. Your nose is not going to fill with water. Your lungs_-

He stopped, coughing to stop his lungs from restricting from the memory. He would be all right. Again, it was only water. One of the elements. Something that, like it or not, the world could not function without. Billions of people used it worldwide daily and only thousands, perhaps hundreds, perished from it. The amount of people who were injured due to the water in their bathroom sinks was surely minimal, if not unheard of.

Slowly, he turned on the cool water. He watched it drain for a few minutes, before timidly putting a finger underneath; it only took a moment for pale skin to appear, as the soil washed away.

_You're doing it,_ he realised, as he cleaned underneath his bitten fingernails_. Instead of bothering him, you will surprise him. In a good way_. Judging by the heated debate only two rooms away, he had a feeling his master could use a good sort of surprise.

* * *

Harry downed the contents of the headache potion, wishing it worked without making him tired. Merlin knew he was already tired enough from the lack of sleep, work, and stress.

He stretched his toes to the other end of the sofa, trying to drown out Teddy's screeches. He wanted to tell Severus to stop making him screech and laugh so loudly, but couldn't for several reasons. First of all, it was keeping Teddy both entertained and out of trouble, and secondly, he felt rather bad for Severus after that afternoon; making him fret wasn't fair.

"Are we being too loud?" Severus picked up on Harry's pain. "Shall I take Master Teddy upstairs?"

"Teddy." Harry corrected. He had asked Severus to call Teddy by his name only months ago; he had had such high hopes.

"I apologise, Master. I don't suppose you would like to punish… ah, shall Teddy and I go upstairs, so that you might get some rest?"

Rest sounded wonderful, if not impossible. "Would you think I'm taking advantage of your, you know, status, if I ask you to put Teddy to bed?" It was fairly easy to do, to put Teddy in the crib and raise the bar. Not much could go wrong.

"No." Severus responded. "I would think you are very tired, and utilising a service you rarely do. What does it entail?" He stood, picking Teddy up, who was already clad in his sleeper.

Harry quickly ran Severus through the steps. "Doesn't matter if he cries; he's probably gonna cry. Don't feel bad about it."

Severus nodded, bringing his hand up to his forehead for a brief second. "Yes, Master."

"Come back down when you're done; we have something to talk about. Nothing bad." Harry said just before Severus ascended the stairs.

Sundays were fairly routine in their home. They slept in if at all possible, ate a late breakfast with Angela, played outdoors if the weather was good, which it rarely was. Teddy went down for his nap, Severus worked in the garden, and he and Angela spent time alone indoors. It usually worked out well, making the highlight of Harry's week.

Today had not been a great Sunday at all. Angela had made it quite clear what she thought of Severus calling Teddy by his name only, and by calling her even only 'Miss Di'Angelo'.

Harry had thought it was a rather brilliant idea, to ask Severus to start calling Angela, Hermione. Luna, etc., by 'miss'. It was a simple transition, and only a step above dropping a title altogether. Though 'Mister' sounded unnatural, if Severus began referring to Hermione by her name only, then hopefully he would start to do the same with Ron by proxy. He had been excited about the idea, and had eagerly Firecalled Hermione with it, who had been equally as enthusiastic.

He hadn't expected Angela to protest at the idea. She had never displayed a particular friendship with Severus, like George had, but few had. As a former student of his, it only made sense that she was perhaps a bit standoffish, even. He knew she, like Ron, thought the punishment of slavery was unfair, but not particularly pitying towards Severus.

But to insist on her surname being tacked onto the end of 'Mistress' rather than her first name? It made Harry uncomfortable. It made him wonder if Harry had missed something; did Angela hate Severus? Did she treat him well when Harry was not around? Was this a recent occurrence? If so, was it Severus' fault? He had been very well behaved towards everyone above him since taking down his Occlumency shields, but Harry could imagine remarks being made that could be seen as offensive.

But then, wouldn't Angela have said something?

Severus bowed deeply once he stepped down the final stair step. "He is capable of getting his foot over the top of the side of the crib, Master. He may soon be able to climb out."

Were Teddy able to climb out of bed, he wouldn't be able to reach the doorknob to get out of his room. Hopefully. "It's warded; he can't get out. Thanks for noticing though, Severus. It was very thoughtful of you."

Severus frowned before moving to Harry's side. He knelt on the floor, putting his head close to Harry's. "Is everything all right, Master?" He quietly asked.

Harry sat up. "Yeah. Yeah. Wait – no. Kind of not." He sighed. "Come here."

Severus moved closer until he was sitting directly in front of Harry, and sat on his heels.

It was increasingly tricky to tell Severus bits of stories. Several months ago, Harry was able to tell edited stories, telling Severus the least he needed to know, and Severus accepted it. Now, Severus was able to analyse what Harry was saying, and detect hidden meanings. He would nod and say 'yes, master', but you could see it in his eyes that he was suspicious or unbelieving.

Harry raked his fingers through his own hair. "You know I fret over stupid things, right? I worry about Teddy turning into a fish in the bathtub. And I worry about what you call people. You know I wish you could call me 'Harry', or call Hermione just 'Hermione'."

Severus inclined his head. "I am listening."

"Well, today I was talking to Angela, and things she said made me … fuck, I'm just going to tell you the whole story so you'll stop giving me that look. I said to her that I wanted to ask you to try and call her 'Mistress Angela' instead of 'Mistress Di'Angelo', because you call everybody else by their first names. She was less than thrilled over it, though. She said that titles were there for a reason, and that pretending they weren't was counter-productive or something. She said it would only hurt you in the long run."

Harry waited for Severus' face to fall, or for Severus to begin to look a bit sullen, but he didn't.

"I am inclined to think that she is right, if you do not mind me saying so, Master." Severus said. "It would do me harm to pretend I am not what I am. It will only hurt more when I change hands again."

Harry's hands curled into fists. "Who said you're gonna change hands? I'm not selling you, no way. Ever."

Severus' smile was sad. "Thank you, Master, and it is a comfort that you care so. However, the reality is is that I have been sold three times more than necessary; statistically, the odds of my remaining with you are slim. The more often slaves are sold, the better likelihood they have of being sold again, and the shorter lifespan they are to have."

He shook his head fiercely. "No, Severus; you're not leaving. I promise. I'm even setting up a will so that if I go to Azkaban or something, you'll go to George. Not Teddy – I don't want you to have that sort of relationship with him. I don't want him to grow up with that sort of power, either. But you're not going, okay? I mean it. You're stuck with me, or members of the Order."

Severus did not believe Harry for a moment, but he still said, "yes, Master. I understand."

Harry chose to let it go. "Hermione is very realistic about your life and future as a slave, and she is very happy that you use her first name after 'Mistress'. She is hopeful that you will one day be comfortable enough to transition to 'miss Hermione', and then drop the title altogether. So why did Angela get so upset over the idea? Why did she refuse to be spoken to like that by you?"

Severus bit his lip, and looked down at his hands. "I am unsure, Master. I have no wishes to be the cause of strife between you and your ladyfriend. Perhaps I could not call her anything at all?"

"That's a good idea, but it's not the point." Harry said. "Severus, look at me; does Angela ever make you feel uncomfortable? Does she ever boss you around in a way I don't?"

Severus looked back down. "You are not bossy, Master. You rarely order me about."

_Slytherin_. "You didn't answer the question; you'd make a great Prime Minister." Harry tapped Severus' chin up. "How does she treat you? Really? The truth."

Severus let out a deep breath. "I do not wish to lie to you, but I also do not wish to be a wedge between you and Mistress Di'Angelo."

"Well, what's the lesser of the two evils? I'm not going to resent you if Angela and I break up. This is less about you and more about morals, ethics, and things like that."

Severus rubbed his forehead. "She is quite kind when others are present, but when left alone with me, she can be a bit … she can be quite like a mistress. A mistress that I might have had in the past. She acts in a way you may disapprove of, Master. I do not mind!" He hurriedly said. "I realise that they are only words she says; she had never physically touched me! I am happy to fetch her purse, or to serve her in another way. It is why I exist."

"Not as long as I own you." A sick feeling filled Harry's stomach. "Like, what kinds of things does she say? Just, like, 'bring me this', right? She doesn't order you to massage her feet or something?"

Severus shuddered, and Harry wondered what he was remembering. "No, Master. She makes comments about how you are too good to me, how I am a poor slave. About how you …" He paused, and bit his lip again. "Forgive me, sometimes she says things that anger me, but that is only because I think very highly of you. It is none of my business."

"What things?" Harry's voice was hard.

"She comments on your skills as a father, as a master, a hero, and a … a lover." Severus swallowed hard, before burying his face in Harry's lap. His voice was muffled. "Forgive me, Master. I should not have volunteered that information to you."

As Severus teared up, Harry automatically brought his hand to stroke Severus' head. Angela had made comments about how Harry managed his life? She had made critical comments on what kind of father he was towards Teddy? He welcomed advice of how to handle things, and was glad she had talked him into teaching Teddy to call him 'Daddy', but she was out of line to talk to others about what a poor father she thought he was. Especially to Severus!

And she had said that he was bad in bed? Harry almost wished he wished he could ask Severus what she said. It was not the first time he had heard of this; what was he doing wrong? But again, if she had to broadcast it, why did she tell Severus! Yes, he would keep his mouth shut and not tell a soul, but… he was _Severus_! He would maybe understand if she told one of her girlfriends, or Hermione … but there was no reason to tell Severus unless she was venting, and venting to Severus was a common sense no-no. He had enough problems as it was.

Severus raised his head, wiping away any stray tears. "I apologise, Master; I do not know what came over me."

"It's all right." Harry forced himself to laugh. "I'd be embarrassed to repeat that kind of stuff to someone, too. Why were you upset, you think? 'Cause you were embarrassed? Scared I'd get mad at you?"

Severus was quiet a moment. "Angry, I think. At myself for not telling you sooner, at telling you now, at Mistress Angela for daring to say those things." He paused. "I think you are a wonderful father." He offered.

Well, that wasn't saying much. Severus hadn't had much of a stellar example. "Thanks, Sev; I appreciate it."

Severus stood on shaky legs, and offered Harry his hand. "May I help you to bed, Master? You are very tired."

Harry was exhausted, but even if he were capable of sleeping, felt too wound up to sleep. "How'd you know I was tired?"

"You only call me 'Sev' when you are on the verge of collapse."

Well, huh; he did do that, didn't he?

**Coming Up Next In **_**Unwell**_**...**  
**Chapter Seventy-Two: Collapse**

**A/N: **_This chapter is dedicated to Vine Verrine, who kindly checked up on me after a month long absence. I am still alive, and very busy! I apologise for the wait!_  
_In other news, I leave for my first trip to NYC in a week... and intend to see our very own Mr. Radcliffe on Broadway. Very excited! If you think of something that I simply MUST do while I'm in the city, please let me know! Thanks for all of your support, everyone._


	72. Collapse

**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.**_

**Chapter Seventy-Two  
" Collapse"**

* * *

Harry snatched Teddy up just before the small child toddled into the cauldron. "No, Teddy! You could get burned!"

Teddy began screeching as horns grew out of his temples. His face turned bright red - Harry couldn't tell if that was due to anger or his abilities as a Metamorphous.

"Severus, can you take him?" Harry held him out to Severus. "Please? I'm sorry, but if I don't stir this counter-clockwise seventy-eight times within the next forty seconds, I'm screwed."

Severus stepped forward. His black hair hung in his face, hiding his expression, as he dutifully stepped forward and took the toddler in his arms. "Hush now, Teddy." He tried to console the child in vain; his tone came off more strict than calming, which only made things worse.

Harry clenched his teeth, fighting off the migraine as he quickly stirred the lime green potion. He couldn't remember ever reading that Dreamless Sleep was supposed to be green. It was supposed to be a periwinkle at some point, so aqua or even blue, Harry could understand ... but green? Was he doing something wrong? Dreamless Sleep supposed to be purple.

He looked down at his fifth-year Potions book for reference when the explosion happened.

* * *

Severus wrung his hands together. He tried to take deep, calming breaths like his master often told him to, but found the results dizzying. Mistress Hermione had ordered him not to pace. He was making a very conscious effort to not mutilate his lip as he often subconsciously did. He was running out of stress relievers.

Severus had seen the explosion coming hours previously. To be perfectly honest, he had predicted it when he saw Master begin poring over Potions schoolbooks days earlier, but had became sure of its inevitable occurrence when he saw his master slip snake fangs, rather than porcupine quills, into the potion. He had opened his mouth to say something, but had stopped himself. His master had not asked for critique or berating, and Severus was in no position to offer it.

Being around a boiling cauldron, and ingredients had stirred up anxiety within him. He couldn't place what the anxiety was over specifically, but the fact that it was there hadn't surprised him. Brewing potions had been a key part of his past life, of his life before slavery; it only made sense that it would cause him anxiety to encounter the craft again. _The Road to Recovery_ had predicted it, in fact - Severus had been studying it of late, with his master's watchful eye over him.

Perhaps the anxiety had caused the lapse in judgment in Severus, which had allowed Master to melt his cauldron. He could not blame the fact that he was a poor slave; after all, a good slave kept their mouth shut, did they not? But they also protected their owner at all costs. The rules of slavery, which Severus knew by heart, had once made so much sense. Increasingly now though, as he reviewed them in his mind, they made little sense, and even often contradicted each other.

But he was to follow every one, regardless, for the rest of 'his' life.

Mistress Ginny came bustling out of the small bedroom in Mistress Hermione's flat. She was carrying a tea tray - Severus jumped up to take it from her.

She blinked with surprise. "Thanks, Severus."

Severus ducked his head, carrying the tray to the kitchen. Mistress Hermione's flat was quite small, so it was not as if he was saving her much effort, but it was the principle.

"The pain is about nil now." Mistress Ginny rested his elbows on the counter. "When he's awake, that is. He's going to be sleeping off the effects of this for days."

Dreamless Sleep, in the concentrated state it had been in, was very dangerous to get on or in the body. Of course, Severus could not recall ever seeing it that shade of green before - that could either make it better or worse for his master.

"Hermione is dead-set on taking him to St. Mungos if he doesn't feel a bit better by tonight." Mistress Ginny's jaw was set. "I don't think she gets how much he would rather suffer for days as a patient in her flat than suffer as a patient in St. Mungos for hours, with reporters outside."

Severus knelt to the floor, next to where Teddy was sleeping on a pillow on the floor. He understood what Mistress Ginny was saying better than he imagined most did. He knew what it was like to walk through a large crowd of flashbulbs and yelling reporters. He had done it nearly every time he went out in Wizarding public with his master, gripping his hand so tightly that his knuckles were white. It was not only a very frustrating and taxing situation, but frightening.

And to explain the burns. If he had to tell the world he was brewing Dreamless Sleep, they would want to know why, He would have to admit that the apocothcary would not sell them more than a set limit a month, and therefore admit he overdosed on it. That would make him lose his rights as Teddy's adopted father, most certainly. Master would be questioned on why he didn't get his former Potions Master slave to brew it, and therefore cause suspicion on how he was treating his Death Eater slave. The risk of him losing Severus was there, too.

All over an erupted cauldron.

"The salve Mistress Hermione is using is a good one." Severus found himself able to say. "He should heal nicely. Once he is able to be fully awake for long periods of time, the marks will be hardly visible."

Mistress Ginny nodded, as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "I'm sure you know what you're talking about."

That was nice to know, for Severus wasn't quite sure he did. "Are you leaving?" He sunk back to his knees.

She bit her lip, looking at the clock. "I don't want to leave you alone, with Teddy, when Harry's out like this. Hermione's running late from class though, and I've got to get to work ..." she shook her head. "I know you don't need a babysitter, but just in case something goes wrong, I don't want you to be alone."

That was thoughtful of her. Mistress Di'Angelo, the few times she had been in charge, had not thought anything of leaving Severus alone. "I am sure everything will be fine," Severus said, not wanting Mistress Ginny to get fired from her job.

"Me too." She settled on the arm of the sofa. "But we've been wrong about things before. Harry has a way of attracting trouble, and our luck hasn't been much better. We'd better not push it."

That much was true. If someone were to chronicle only the events of Harry Potter's life from his eleventh birthday through the end of the War (something that was sure to happen, if it had not already), they would have many difficulties and much strife to write about. Trouble was attracted to him much like iron to a magnet.

It was also true that Mistress Ginny had had unfortunate things happen to her. The stress from her first year at Hogwarts had left Severus' face permanently lined, and the unspeakable events that he had endorsed the year he was Headmaster no doubt left her with psychological trauma.

She was wrong about him, though; he did not have bad luck. Mere chance had not put him where he was; a series of bad decisions had. Decisions that he had voluntarily made for many years, before being forced into them.

"I am sure Master will be grateful for how attentive you are." Severus chose his words carefully.

"Hermione says Harry has been ODing on Dreamless Sleep for a long time." Mistress Ginny did not pick at her nail polish, or pretend to be overly interested in the wall, like most did when they spoke to Severus. "She said he said it's because he couldn't sleep."

That was the short of it. Severus knew more, but he was not inclined to tell it. It would betray his master. "That is what Dreamless Sleep is used for."

She raised a thin red eyebrow. "But why can't he sleep? God knows he's exhausted whenever we see him."

"It is possible that he is overtired." _You're doing well. And your forehead isn't burning_. "Perhaps you have experienced being so tired that you cannot sleep? Insomnia does not mean one is wide-eyed, but that they cannot sleep. One could have not slept in days, and still be unable to sleep."

The girl gaped. "I haven't heard you say that much in one sitting since forever."

Severus felt himself flush. _She is distracted from the issue at hand. That is good._

It did not last. "If he needed to sleep, why wouldn't he take sleeping potions? There are dozens of varieties. Why did he insist on taking Dreamless Sleep, if it were not bad dreams keeping him from sleeping properly?"

'Misdirection' was what Master called the way Severus avoided answering questions. They were not lies, but ways of making someone think you answered the question without actually answering it. It was a skill that Severus had down to a formula, nearly.

"You sound rather like Mistress Hermione. Has she asked you to interrogate me?" Severus tried to make his tone light, teasing, but it sounded wrong coming from his lips.

A key in the Muggle lock signaled that Mistress Hermione was home from her class, so Mistress Ginny did not get a chance to answer. And for that, Severus was glad. It bought him time to come up with an answer to protect his master's dignity that even Mistress Hermione would believe.

* * *

_"What are you doing?" the voice was harsh._

_He jumped, feeling as if he left his skin aside. He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself before answering. "J-Just-"_

_The man grabbed him from the collar of his shirt. The thick meaty hand was very large; one slap with it and he would lose teeth. He could be unconscious for days. He would have to be careful with what he said._

_"I said, what are you doing?" The man's breath smelled foul, of onions and garlic, as he leaned close to his face._

"I wonder if it's true that putting someone's hand into warm water while they're sleeping will make them piss the sheets."

"Try it Ronald, and you'll be the one cleaning it up. Have you no sympathy or compassion?"

"He hates sympathy and compassion, when it comes to him."

"Go stir the vegetables. The skillet is probably about to catch on fire."

Harry opened his eyes. The room was dim, though the drapes were open. It was not a rare phenomenon, however, for rooms to be dim when they were 20 stories high, in London. Between the clouds and smog, sunshine was not usual.

And he was twenty stories high, because he was in Hermione's flat. He recognized the photos of her family on her dresser, and her heavy quilt on the bed. It didn't surprise him that he was there; his stomach twisted as he remembered why.

"Where's Severus?" He tried to swing his legs out from the covers, but his legs got twisted. Sitting up made him feel lightheaded. "Where's Teddy? I need to-"

Hermione would have none of it. "Harry Potter, lay back down!" Her brown eyes were narrowed.

Harry stared at her for a moment, before easing back into the bed. It was a good thing she was not going to study to be a mediwitch, as she was stricter than Madame Pomfrey.

"Severus is fine; he's been caring for Teddy nearly single-handedly for the past forty-eight hours. I've been transfiguring the coffee table into a crib; Severus has been on the floor. They've been getting plenty of meals. Ginny has been dropping Teddy off at daycare on her way to work every morning, and picking him up on the way home. We've got it covered."

_We've got it covered._ It certainly sounded like they did. "I need to see them."

"You've been asleep in my flat for forty-eight hours, Harry. I'm entitled to some answers." Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. "And before you ask, yes, they are miffed at you at work, but you're not being kicked out of the programme."

Harry licked his dry lips; Hermione wordlessly passed him a glass of water. He had been brewing Dreamless Sleep, in an effort to try to get some sleep. The apocothcary wouldn't let him order more than three cases at a time, which was presenting a problem. He had been toying with the idea of a concentrated version, which had likely been the thing to get him into trouble.

"How'd I get here?" He asked.

"Severus had the sense to Firecall me straightaway. Thankfully, I was home. It would be more responsible to have him Firecall the Burrow in case of emergency though; someone is always home. But I digress." She shook her head. "We know, Harry."

_We know, Harry. We know._ That was all good and well, but the question was, what did they know? What had Severus told them? Leave it to Severus that the one time he chose to open his mouth to say more than two sentences, he was tattling on Harry.

"What do you know?" He wanted to know.

Hermione's lips were set in a thin line. "Hopefully, everything there is to know. You haven't exactly hidden it well."

Harry swallowed hard. "Look, Hermione, if you were-"

"-just answer me this." Hermione interrupted. "Please tell me you haven't been force-feeding Severus Dreamless Sleep."

That accusation was enough for Harry to sit straight up in bed. "What? No! Never! I haven't given Severus Dreamless Sleep but once - maybe twice - in the entire time I've had him. And it's only for emergencies. I don't want him to come to rely on it, or to have it stop working!"

"Like it has for you?" Hermione seemed satisfied by Harry's answer.

Hermione didn't know what it was like. She didn't wake up with nightmares every night - terrible nightmares that kept a grown man from being able to go back to sleep. He told her all of that, in his defence, while wondering what time it was, and where Severus and Teddy were that very moment. Did Severus need his forehead touched? Did he need reassurance that Harry was all right? Did he need-

"-I don't know what it's like?" Hermione's face reddened with anger. "Sure. I have no cause for nightmares. I'm never haunted by Bellatrix Lestrange, by Malfoy Manor. I never wake up in bed, unable to open my eyes, convinced I'm lying in a tent somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I've never woken in the middle of the night, while I'm in my living room setting up wards."

Hermione sleep-walked? Even Harry didn't do that.

"Dreamless Sleep is not the answer, Harry. Potions are never the answer. They can help, but they don't answer the problems at hand!" Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Cutting back tea consumption can, because it can help you sleep. Or perhaps sipping a chamomile can help you sleep, if you cannot cut back from tea all together. You can try mediating, and proven methods to help you sleep. You can perform spells to ease your subconscious, and lower your stress, which you couldn't possibly have more of, by the way."

That was true. Harry was under a lot of stress. Between a baby, Severus, and the Auror Training Programme, not to mention the break-up with Angela, he thought it would be less stressful to maybe go back and be faced with killing Voldemort again.

"I'm glad all that works for you, Hermione," Harry bitterly said. "But it doesn't for me."

"Do you want me to tell you what I think will work for you?" Hermione asked. "Hire a person to come in once a week, and clean your house. Just because you're capable of magic doesn't mean cleaning house is easy. Have them clean the floors, clean the windows, clean sheets, make beds."

That wouldn't be so bad, and of course Harry could afford it. But he didn't see how that would help him sleep.

"Find some extra time," Hermione said next.

The idea was laughable. Where would Harry find extra time?

"Don't give me that look," Hermione scolded. "You have Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights completely open. Find a regular sitter, and do something for yourself those nights. I don't care if it's going to the pub with the boys, Apparating to a beach, or just going upstairs to get some extra sleep. You need time where you're allowed to do whatever you want, without worrying about Teddy or Severus."

He shook his head. "That's no good, though. I worry about them no matter what."

"That's because you're a mother hen. Stop it; I've seen Severus over the past several days, and he's more than capable of fending for at least himself. You wouldn't leave him home alone while you go to the Auror Training Programme, if you didn't."

_Touche_.

"My next suggestion is going to earn me that 'look'," Hermione said, "and I'm already prepared for it. Remember that therapist Severus used to see?"

"Dr. Brown?" Harry remembered the trips to London he used to take with Severus, so long ago.

"Is she currently taking patients?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know. I haven't been-" Harry stopped short. "I don't need to see a therapist."

"Don't kid yourself; we all _need_ to see therapists." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Most of us can get by with avoiding it, but some can't."

"And you think I fit into the 'some can't' category," Harry said.

She nodded. "Just someone to talk to about your problems, and someone who knows what they are talking about? Wouldn't you think that would help so much?"

No, Harry did not. "I don't like to talk about myself. She always asked Severus 'how do you _feel_."

"And is that so hard to answer?" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

Apparently, no one had asked Hermione such questions - over and over again - in her life. "Yes!" Harry pounded the bed with his fist. "I don't know how I feel, if I feel, and if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't be sharing it with a woman I don't know!"

Hermione eased off the edge of the bed. "I'm not saying you must go, Harry; it's just a recommendation. You don't have to get so worked up over it."

He knew he didn't, but for some reason he was. "I don't need to see a goddamned-"

"Just think about it." Hermione edged out of the room. "You're tired; you need some time to think. Just, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

Hermione didn't look embarrassed, as some might at saying these words. "See that you use the toilet before you fall back asleep; I'm getting tired of spelling my mattress clean."

**Coming Up Next In **_**Unwell**_**...**  
**Chapter Seventy-Three: untitled**

**A/N:** _I'm …still alive. Between taking holiday in October, a busy work schedule, and NaNoWriMo, I am only barely, though. Thank you all for your kind messages and emails – I didn't mean to scare anyone with my absence! On a more encouraging note, however, the next several chapters are already completed, so I look forward to updating soon (as repentance for my absence, and for holiday 'fun', I hope to update several times this month)._

_Thanks again for continuing to read, share, and enjoy!_


	73. Placebo

**Disclaimer:_ I do not own "Harry Potter" or any characters from it. I am making no money from this piece of fiction._**

**Chapter Seventy-Three: _Placebo_**

Harry frowned at the tall glass of water sitting on his desk, and resisted the urge to fling it across the room, spilling it over the other dozen trainees. Water did nothing but fill his belly until he was nearly nauseous, and it didn't taste like anything; it most certainly didn't keep him awake.

Hermione had suggested pouring it from his wand boiling hot, like they did to make tea. She had said that eventually he would get used to the taste, and that it made a great placebo for tea.

He didn't believe her for one moment, not when she had the strings of a tea bag sticking out of _her_ cup.

It had been two weeks since the cauldron incident. He was told by many that he was making progress, slowly but surely. Harry thought they were delusional.

Truth be told, he felt worse than he ever had. He was far more exhausted than he had been when taking the Dreamless Sleep, and no wonder; instead of operating off of three hours of sleep per night, he now operated off of one, broken into short periods throughout the night. He no longer had tea to keep him awake. He was very behind on his work for the Auror Training Programme, and knew that they would have kicked him out long ago were it not for his name, his status, and his friendship with Minister Shacklebolt.

There were a lot less people in his group than there had been in the beginning. Months earlier, there had been easily three dozen in the group. Some had left due to familial commitments; others couldn't take the stress. Some failed to master a certain technique, or failed to turn in a paper, even after being given an extension.

It wasn't hard to be kicked out of the programme, for sure, so Harry knew how lucky he was.

Sometimes, he wondered if he had made the right decision by joining the gruelling programme. It required a lot of time and energy on his part that he didn't have. It required a lot of running, jumping, twisting, crouching, and heavy-duty spell-casting in the mornings, brain-squelching tests in the early afternoon, and laborious paperwork into the evening. Surely it would be easier, and more reasonable, for Harry to try out for the Harpies or Cannons and become their star Quidditch player. He could get in based not only on talent and his kinship with Oliver Wood, but his name.

How would being a star Seeker help his country, though? Truth be told, Harry didn't _need_ to work. He could sit all day, at home, and listen to the radio, eating Wotsits. If he was going to spend his time at a job, away from a home, he needed to be where he was needed.

_But you're needed at home too, aren't you? Teddy needs you. Severus needs you._

He poked a quill through his parchment, and made a face. The truth was that while Teddy and Severus needed him, they didn't need him in the same way they once did. Teddy could walk, and say words beyond the basic 'daddy', 'thank you', and 'buh buh', though they were still mostly unintelligible by those who did not spend much time with him. He no longer needed food spooned to him, and if the proper wards were in place, scarcely needed watching if in one room (if the wards were gone, watch out, as he would chew all the books in an instant).

Severus had changed so much since Harry had first brought him home over a year ago. He no longer needed soft food spooned to him in a bowl, and no longer needed supervised while on the toilet. He hadn't hurt Teddy since that one incident, and though he still panicked at rain, at the sight of someone from his past, and some other triggers, he didn't need to bury his face into Harry's lap every five minutes. Though he still seemed to enjoy being comforted by his hair being stroked, he was no longer the mindless slave who wanted nothing more than to serve his master; he was now a conflicted man, torn between two realities, who had very much a mind, but not of his own.

_'Does that bug you? How does it feel to be needed no longer?'_ Harry growled as Dr. Brown's words came back to him. After much pressuring from his friends (Ginny had been the real convincer, after telling Harry her ventures into becoming a licensed Wizarding psychiatrist), Harry had made appointments with Dr. Brown, for both Severus and himself. Neither had wanted to go, but had agreed that it was necessary.

Maybe they were both masochists. God only knew Harry seemed to be, with all he burdened himself over.

"Do you need a new roll of parchment?" Another trainee, Marcia, leaned over his desk with a smile. "You seem to be poking your way through that one with a shocking speed."

Harry growled, tearing off the mangled piece of parchment from the roll, and beginning again. "How am I supposed to know how the Aurors of Great Britain were affiliated with Napoleon Bonaparte? I didn't even think the Auror Programme existed then."

"You might have had the answers if you listened to the lecture," Marcia didn't scold, but passed him a textbook from her desk, "or read the required reading."

Harry began flipping through the book, looking for text that might seem remotely relevant. "I haven't time; I spent all last evening trying to get bubble gum out of my toddler's hair, and consoling Severus; he had a panic attack that even I couldn't pull him out of." He spared poor Marcia the details of the urinated on carpet, the cat scratches, and the lost Monster's Book of Monsters.

"Wow." Marcia's eyes were wide. "Well, everyone knows what kind of pressure you're under; it's understandable."

Harry looked up at her, panic filling him. "Everyone knows? How does everyone know?" Harry read the _Prophet_ every morning, so that he could cut out articles before Severus got to the paper; he didn't want Severus to read anything that might upset him. He hadn't seen any articles involving him in six weeks.

Her smile was sympathetic. "We hear you try to explain to one of our instructors, or overhear you telling someone. Word gets around, you know. There's not much to gossip about around here."

Harry looked around at his buff, or brainy fellow trainees. They were none much to talk about, to be certain, but neither was he.

He spent a few moments working on his in-class essay. Their instructor, Miss Hill, was never actually around to supervise the class, and why should she be? At this point in the programme, anyone who was there wanted to be an Auror desperately, having weeded out all the wannabes with vigorous homework and exercise. They wanted it badly enough to do the work without creating a riot in the classroom.

"How's things going with Carl?" Harry knew Marcia was having a tumultuous relationship with her boyfriend, thirteen years her senior.

Marcia frowned. "It was going well until I introduced him to my parents last week; I thought my mum was going to have a stroke."

Harry wondered what his parents might have thought of Angela. Would they have seen through her as it seemed everyone else in his life did? Would they have tried to discourage the relationship, like no one in his life had tried to? "I'm sure they're only upset because they care about you. Otherwise they wouldn't bother." He blew on his ink before beginning a new paragraph.

She smiled sadly. "I guess. So what about you? Are you dating anyone?"

Harry was very careful to reveal few details of his personal life to those around him, who he did not attend Hogwarts with, who had not been his friend during that time. What he told Luna was different from what he told a stranger in a pub; what he told the class of Gryffindor '98 was different than what he told the Auror Programme's class. He usually just stuck to the basics, talking about Teddy and what they were working on in class. Sometimes he branched off to Severus, and his friends, but didn't like to reveal too much; that was their private business, and he did not gossip like the girls in his class did.

And a few of the blokes.

"Um ...well, not any more." Harry found himself puncturing his parchment again with the sharp end of his quill. "I was, I mean, up until a few weeks ago. We got into an argument, and I kind of saw their true colours. It ...it wasn't pretty." He could only hope Angela wouldn't get access to a Pensieve, and show her memories of them being intimate to a skilled artist; that could earn her quite a few of Galleons.

Marcia's face fell. "That's terrible!" She tried to console him.

He nodded. He already knew it was, but had settled for his lot in life. "I always end up with the slime balls."

"I'm sure that's not true." She turned to jot down a few words before turning back to continue their conversation. "There are plenty of great people out there; you just have to go out and meet them."

Of course that was true, otherwise people would never get married, or stay that way. Of course, it depended on your opinion of 'great people', because sometimes two very nasty people met each other and thought each other 'great', because they had different opinions than most of the general population over such things. The problem lied _with_ the general population; since they generally agreed that nasty people were nasty and great people great, which left the pickings slim.

They didn't all get as lucky as Mr. and Mrs. James Potter.

"The problem is getting out and meeting them." Harry picked at the peacock feathers of the quill, as he tried to think of a suitable closing line to his essay. "I've got a two-year-old, remember? It's an effort to get to the bathroom, much less the pub."

"Haven't you thought of meeting people at work?" Marcia teased. Her eyes widened. "Oh, I know the perfect person for you!"

Harry looked at her suspiciously. "Are you trying to set me up with someone?"

"No, listen to me! It's perfect - you're so compatible, it's ridiculous! I'm surprised no one has mentioned this to you before!" Marcia's cheeks were pink with excitement.

Harry thought it was rather weird to get so excited over someone else's romantic life, or lack thereof. "Um, I don't really do the whole blind date thing. My friend Ron tried that in fifth-year, and ended up getting this-"

"No, it's not going to be a blind date because you already know him!" Marcia shook his head. "You know, James, who works down at the cafeteria? The guy who's always refilling the coffee machine with coffee that's way too strong for normal people's tastes? He's in the Auror Training Programme too, two classes ahead of us, and works at the cafeteria to support himself. He's got-"

_He. He. He's perfect for you. He. James who works down at the cafeteria. He. He. James. Two classes ahead. He supports himself. He. _Harry shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts out. "Wait- wait; _he_?"

She nodded. "Yes, and the hours are very-"

"No, wait, I think you've got a misunderstanding." Harry interrupted. He could feel his cheeks burning, but didn't care. "I'm not gay."

"You're-You're not?" She turned a ghastly pale.

He shook his head. "No. I mean, I've only ever gone out with girls before. Women, I mean. I don't like blokes, not _that_ way."

"Oh, my God! I am so sorry!" She covered her hands with her face. "I can't believe I just-"

"No, it's okay." Harry had never been told by anyone else before that they thought he was gay. Was that a normal occurrence? Did people usually walk by him, and wonder if he was gay? What was it about him that made him seem gay? The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he dressed, the way he acted? "What made you think I was? I mean, why did you assume-"

She couldn't look at him in her embarrassment. "Just forget about it."

"No, I want to know." He persisted. "What made you think I was-"

Miss Hill chose that moment, for once in her career, to step into their classroom before the hour was up. "Are you ready to turn in your essays, because it's nearly time."

Marcia thought he was gay. She was so sure of it that she had said it out loud, thinking nothing of it. How many other people thought the same?

Much like the clock tower in the building, Harry could feel his gears turning. But he didn't like it.

* * *

Severus sat still as Master spread the shampoo into his hair. It seemed to not matter when his hair was washed, whether only a day or a week prior, it was too oily for the shampoo to spread well. He felt guilty that his master had to use so much of it, but tried not to; it was his master's decision to use bottled shampoo rather than suds from his wand, just as it was his master's decision to wash Severus' hair in the first place, rather than letting it hang lank in his face. It wasn't Severus' fault how it grew out of his head, after all.

He stared at the white tile on the wall of the bathtub, paying special attention to the blackened grout that was badly in need of a proper magical cleaning. He wondered if he could ask the cleaning woman who came twice weekly to do the job that should have been Severus' to clean the grout; he wondered if he was in a position to do so, if that would be out of his place, if it would be hypocritical. He wondered if by doing so, he would be being a good slave by ensuring his master's home was clean, or a bad slave for telling someone Above him what to do.

He wondered why he cared so much.

Typically, as Master washed his hair, or sat with him in the bathroom, they carried on conversations. It was this time, after Teddy was asleep, that they were actually able to talk beyond 'yes pleases' and 'thank yous'. It was during this time that Master quizzed Severus on his day, and that Severus listened attentively about Master's running time around the long indoor track.

However tonight, Master had said little. He had not played with Teddy following supper, but had just sat on the floor, idly letting Teddy crawl over him. He had seemed deep in thought, his green eyes furrowed behind his thick lenses. He had barely touched his supper, and it was with great sorrow that Severus had scraped it all into the rubbish bin, rather than finding a way to save the pasta for a later date.

He was getting better at that, however. He had not stored food indoors for months, and only kept his collection of raven's food on the roof for something to do whilst flying about.

That was what he told himself, anyhow.

Severus tensed as Master began pulling too tightly on his hair, as he raked the suds through it.

Master stopped. "Sorry; did I pull too hard?"

Severus' upper body was chilled as the rest of him was submerged in the hot water. "It was mildly uncomfortable, Master. However, it is at your digression."

Master began being much more gentle. "Sorry. I just got really distracted."

That was as good as an opening as any. "Did you have a hard day at work, Master?" Severus had been trained to never open conversation with his master, but had found that this master preferred him to rebel against such rules. He also realised that if he wasn't the first one to speak, it was not exactly rebelling. There was no need for his forehead to burn, and as a result, when it came to beginning conversations, it rarely did.

"Yes," Master sighed. "Well, the work itself wasn't so bad; we had an in-class essay that I'm pretty sure I bullshitted my way through, and I made okay enough through our battle practise today; I only got Petrified three times."

Severus winced. Petrifying someone was well harsh, when it was just for practise. "Is the hot water trick working?"

When Severus had heard Master agree to stop drinking tea, he had at his earliest convenience given their teabags to Mrs. Weasley. Master had been so very angry when he found out, but hadn't punished Severus; it was in Severus' opinion that if his Master was trying to avoid drinking tea, they should not have any in the house. He had been so caught up in trying to assist his master, whom he cared so very much about, that he had forgotten that it was not his decision to make.

Severus hadn't allowed himself flight the next day, as a punishment for himself. Strictly speaking, he was not supposed to punish himself. He wasn't a house-elf.

He could never win that game, he supposed.

Master scoffed. "I've switched to ice water. It tastes better. Hermione is full of bullshit."

Severus didn't think she was. When he had lived at Master Weston's, and wishing he was allowed to drink tea so badly, he had contended himself with hot water from the kitchen tap. In a real teacup, it had been very convincing. "Yes, Master."

"Actually, I'm kind of preoccupied by something someone said to me today," Master admitted, using clean water from the end of his wand to rinse Severus' hair.

Severus barely heard him. He tensed his muscles, and shut his eyes, trying to pretend he was anywhere else, and not getting water poured over his head. Instead of taking deep relaxing breaths, he chose not to breathe at all, in order to avoid getting water in his nose or mouth.

"It was Marcia, the girl who sits in front of me while we do our paperwork and stuff." Master didn't continue speaking until Severus' hair was free of suds. "We were talking about my break-up with Angela, and she said that she had the perfect match for me."

Severus was not permitted to offer his opinion unless asked, but privately he had a bad feeling about that. He did not think dating would be good for his master at the time; he had confided in Mistress Brown such earlier that week at their session, and she had laughed, and reminded him that he was to not say that to his master, unless of course prompted.

"Apparently there's some bloke who works in the cafeteria. I don't usually eat there - hell, I don't usually eat. Fuck, I shouldn't have said that. Oh shit, now I sound like Hagrid - fuck. Anyway, his name is James. First of all, that's weird enough - that'd be like you shagging someone named Eileen, you know? You can't shag someone with the same name was one of your parents. That's just too weird."

He couldn't remember all the people he had been with in the past couple years, since becoming a slave. It was rather ironic, considering he had led a mostly celibate life beforehand.

"But, the weirdest part was, obviously, was that he's a bloke. Apparently a gay bloke, or a guy she just assumes is gay. She thought _I_ was gay!" Master pulled the towel off its rack with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm.

Was Master gay?Severus had, on occasion, considered it, but assumed it was the fault of Severus' own nightmarish past, and anxieties. "Would you not know if you were? I imagine you might." Severus stood up, his balance aided by Master's forearm. He stepped out of the bathtub, and into the towel.

"Well, I just want to know, what part of me seems gay? The way I act, or the way I talk? Or dress? I mean, some part of me has to seem gay, because otherwise she would have just assumed I was straight, right?" Master's eyes were wide as he racked his brain.

Severus didn't know if he was supposed to answer him or not. As he towelled off, all he could think about was Master Mering, who Severus thought with certainty, was not a homosexual. He had no qualms, however, with using him continually as a part of his job.

He did not think his master would appreciate the comparison, however, and kept his mouth shut. He was in control of very little in his life, which was not strictly speaking even 'his' life, but he was in control over what he voluntarily said.

"It's not that I have a problem with gay people," Master continued, carefully putting a small amount of Muggle toothpaste on the manual toothbrush for Severus. "I mean, I know plenty. Doesn't everybody? And not all of them even 'seem' gay, you know? A lot of them, I never would have even suspected if I didn't already know. But some you can tell by how they talk, or look. And I've got to have some of the look or something, because Marcia thought I was."

"Perhaps she is just a poor judge of it?" Severus suggested before putting the toothbrush into his mouth. He was careful to clean his teeth by moving the brush in small circles.

Harry snorted. "Or maybe I just broke her gay-dar. I mean, don't I walk like a straight man? Don't I talk like one?"

Severus wondered why his master was asking him all of these questions. He spat the excess toothpaste in the sink, and rinsed out the toothbrush. "Are you asking me this because of my extensive experience with men who do not favour the fairer sex?"

Master's green eyes widened, almost as big as the lenses of his glasses. "Holy crap - no! No! No, I hadn't even thought of- oh, fuck! I'm sorry! I know I'm not supposed to vent to you, but I just-"

Severus could not help but smile smally as his master went off on a tangent. He waited for his master to stop speaking before continuing. "I was only going to say that if it is the sole reason you are asking, I may be of little help. However, if you care for my thoughts otherwise," he paused, waiting for his Master's response before continuing.

Master waved his wand to remove the stubble from Severus' cheeks, something that Severus no longer shied away from. "Otherwise, I mean. I care for your thoughts otherwise."

"I do not understand what it matters what this... this Marcia thinks of your sexuality." Severus slipped his nightshirt over his nude body. "Are you in an effort to woo her?"

If Master kept popping his eyes out like that, Severus swore they would stay that way. "No! I barely know her, and she's a grave robber. That is, she only digs old guys. Well, not old guys, because the reality is is that thirteen years isn't that big of a difference when you live to be over two hundred - I'd go for even a bigger age gap if I thought it would really work, but never mind."

Severus took that as his cue to continue, as he pulled a comb quickly through his clean wet hair. "Is it so necessary to define yourself? Obviously, the question is irrelevant to me, however, if someone approached me and asked me which half of the human race I preferred, it is usually hardly their business. If it is, what is the harm in telling the truth?"

Master seemed to miss Severus' point. "But do I act gay?"

He gave his master a long, appraising look, "If you did, I think I would spend so much time with you to not notice."

"Great." Master whinged, sinking down a bit as he slide down the wall. "Everyone thinks I'm a poof."

The question had to be asked. "If you do not mind me asking, are you?"

Master's jaw opened. "No!"

"A bit? You have never fantasized about men at all? You have never seen one undress in the Quidditch changing rooms, and been the slightest bit curious?" Severus knew he had crossed the line when his master's jaw hardened.

"No. And that's none of your business, anyway. Go upstairs," Master lightly ushered Severus out of the bathroom door. "I'll get you a glass of water."

On Severus' way up to his bedroom, he gathered Gik into his arms and nuzzled her close. He didn't tell Master how Mistress Di'Angelo had complained to Severus about Master not being able to get it up, and Severus' careful observations since then.

Because that was also not his place.

As Master tucked him in, and kissed his forehead, Severus began to get an uneasy feeling. Despite how many times Master told Severus he loved him, and how glad he was that they were family, he couldn't help begin to feel that there were shadows looming overheard. And as he lied in bed that night, he clutched his cat close.

Because although he had checked the closet and under the bed twice, respectfully, as well as shut the drapes, he couldn't help but feel he was being watched.

**Coming Up Next In _Unwell_...  
Chapter Seventy-Four: _untitled_**


	74. A Stopper in Nightmares

**Disclaimer:_ I do not own "Harry Potter" or any characters from it. I am making no money from the writing of this story._**

**Chapter Seventy-Four**

_**A Stopper in Nightmares**_

* * *

It was several nights later, and Harry was still trying to figure out what Marcia saw in him that made her think that he was gay. Was it his smile? He smiled in the mirror, and then made a face.

Maybe it _was_ his smile.

Of course, not sleeping left plenty of time for him to think on such things. It wasn't that he couldn't fall asleep, or that he wasn't tired; he didn't _want_ to. He didn't want to fall asleep, because he knew what would happen.

Dr. Brown spoke a lot about how to end the nightmares, and how the fear of the nightmares alone was preventing quite a bit of sleep. Harry thought she should stop sounding so much like Dumbledore, and just _fix_ the problem.

PTSD, was what he supposedly had. He didn't think that sounded too spectacular; didn't they all have it? Didn't nearly every single one of the Weasleys, Hermione, Neville, Cho, Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, and countless Muggles even, have post-traumatic stress disorder, stemming from the Second Wizarding War of the United Kingdom?

But on the other hand, Severus definitely had the same disorder, and Severus was so much more sick than Harry. He needed held - tightly - when he woke up from nightmares, and quiet reassurances that he was all right. He needed constant reinforcement that his nightmares were only memories, or perhaps never happened at all. Harry didn't need that, like he did.

_What if you do? What if someone was there to hold you when you woke up from your nightmares? What if you regularly had someone explain to you that Voldemort was dead, that no matter what anyone tried, he couldn't come back?_

Harry plopped down on his bed. He was so exhausted - his muscles burned and ached with every move. He was so tempted to drink a potion to stop the pain, or even force him to sleep, but couldn't. All potions were off limits for him, as of right now. Hermione had cleaned out a majority of his cupboards, leaving only potions for Teddy and Severus, for their needs.

_But Pepper-Up, that's not addictive, is it? Maybe it will stop me from hurting so badly. _Harry groaned, and pulled the pillow over his head, to smother light and sound.

A few moments later, he took it off, and rolled to his side. The clock on the wall was ticking, the pendulum swinging from side to side. Harry watched it, intently, waiting for what he knew would happen in around four minutes.

_You know the ones who are gay are the ones who deny it so fiercely. You know that if the same thing would have happened to Ron, he would have been shocked, but would have brushed it off, eventually. He wouldn't have been like you, you adamant, and... and angry._

Three minutes.

_And so what if you have thought about blokes that way? Everyone my age does sometimes, don't they? They see something they like, and their mind wanders ...it's not as if I've ever actually kissed a guy, or flirted with one. It's not as if I've seriously entertained the thought of living happily-ever-after with a man, or had a crush on one._

Two minutes.

_That's not true. You were infatuated with the Half-Blood Prince. Once you found out it was Snape, of course all infatuation went out the window, but- oh God. If I was gay - or even just bisexual - would it be appropriate for me to have Severus in my house? It's not like I've ever - ever - thought of him that way, but it could make him uncomfortable, with his- no, don't be ridiculous. That means nothing. He was with all sorts of people, men, women, straight, or gay. It's not as if your sexuality makes any difference to him._

One minute. Harry sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, waiting.

_The reason it bugs you so much is because she was kind of right. It bugs you because you thought it wasn't obvious, and just sort of a deep-seated fantasy. It wasn't as if-_

Thirty seconds

_-you had a sign written on your head or anything, but maybe your break-up with Angela just sort of intensified it. You know that if she sells any stories to the Prophet, you're going to have reporters start asking you if you're gay. Why not just tell them the truth? Say 'I don't know', or 'maybe I like both'. Severus said it's not a big deal. Not like Severus is always right, especially concerning things like sex. But he may be right with this one. Maybe I could ask Hermione._ He couldn't ask Dr. Brown; he didn't know her well enough to trust her with such questions.

Maybe that was why he was feeling his therapy was doing such little good.

Right as the minute hand hit one-forty-six, Severus began crying out. His voice, calling for mercy almost unintelligibly through strangled sobs, echoed down the hall.

Harry hurried down the hall, and into the bedroom. He climbed up onto Severus' bed, where the man was thrashing around in his sleep.

"Ssh, it's okay." Harry sat up against the headboard, and tried to still the thrashing man in his arms. "It's okay. You're safe. You're here. I'm here. You're okay." He tried to speak in soothing tones, as he held Severus tightly to him. His eyes darted around the room, wondering where that darned cat went off to.

Severus slowly came to, and stopped thrashing. His laboured breathing was still hiccuping with sobs, as he held tightly to Harry.

Harry ran his free hand through Severus' hair. "You're okay. Everything is okay."

They continued in this manner until Severus' sobs were almost gone. "Do you want some warm milk?" Harry asked. He used to offer tea, but Severus had insured that without a trip to the market, that was not possible.

Severus tensed in Harry's arms. "No, Master."

_No, Master. No, Master._ _No_, _Master_? Severus never said that. He always said 'if you wish for me to', or 'whatever you think is best'. He never clearly stated what he wanted or didn't want, because he believed that best up to Harry. Harry only asked as a common courtesy, never thinking that-

_No, Master!_

Harry gently released Severus from his arms, so that he was lying comfortably in the bed. "That's okay, then." He lied down next to Severus, pressed for room in the narrow twin bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Severus didn't answer, but he did not shudder away Harry's hand, which ran up and down Severus' side in a soothing way.

"It is natural to have nightmares, especially after what you've been through." Harry said. "I have terrible nightmares after one year in the wilderness; you've got to have some bad ones. Mistr- Dr. Brown said it could help to talk about your nightmares, though."

"Did she." Severus did not sound convinced, but his tone did not question Harry.

He never actually questioned Harry.

"She did." Harry affirmed.

Severus was quiet a moment. "Who do you tell your nightmares to?"

"Who do I tell my nightmares to?" Harry asked. "Well, um, there's Ron and Hermione, and-"

"Pardon me for interrupting, Master. I know who you _can_ tell, but who do you actually tell them to?" Severus coughed.

How could Harry tell anyone his nightmares? They didn't make sense to anyone else. They couldn't. They would sound stupid to other people. It made him sound like he was four, and afraid of the monsters in the closet. Granted, Harry _had been_ the monster in the closet, as far as the Dursleys were concerned, at the age of four.

"You tell me what you're scared of, and I'll tell you what I am." Harry finally said. "If you tell me what nightmare just woke you up, I'll tell you the one that's keeping me awake."

Severus was quiet. "I suppose this is what Mistress Brown means by talking about our feelings?"

Not hardly. The odds of her approving of Harry scaring Severus were very slim; he would try to choose his least scary nightmare. "I don't think so, but we don't have to tell her. I mean, I'm not forbidding you from telling her or anything, but I just don't think this is what she means by talking about our feelings."

"The nightmares aren't always the same," Severus said with a sigh. "They used to only be from since I was a slave, but since we lifted the Occlumency shields, they have been different. I've had nightmares of since before you were born, even."

"Oh. Did you have nightmares way back then?"

"Not chronically, no."

Chronic nightmares. That was their problem. "Yeah, me too."

Severus chuckled, rolling over to face Harry. "What of you? What happens in your nightmares?"

Severus hadn't been too specific in his nightmares, but Harry didn't really know how to do that, saying something without saying much of anything. "I have nightmares of Hermione screaming in Malfoy Manor. You weren't there, but it was terrible. Me and Ron were locked down in the cellar, with Luna, and Ollivander, and Griphook. We could hear Hermione screaming - _screaming_ - and we didn't know what was going on."

Severus' voice was quiet. "What was happening to her?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange was _Cruicio_ing her." Harry remembered. "Is it weird to say that I'm so happy it was just the Cruciatus?"

"Just the Cruciatus." Severus repeated, before shaking his head. "No. It could have been so much worse."

Harry didn't dare inquire how it could have been so much worse, because he was trying to calm Severus, not get him worked up.

"It does little good for me to assure you that the Lestranges are dead, I am sure. However, they are. It is the past, and one of the good things about the Cruciatus that you can never remember just how badly it hurt once it is over." Severus was most certainly speaking from experience. "I am sure Mistress Hermione has recovered fully from the experience."

"More than I have, anyway," Harry eased himself out of the bed. "Are you warm enough in here? It's a little chilly."

Severus rolled over onto his back, to look up at Harry. "If you think it is too warm, it is."

Harry sighed. One step forward, two steps back. Some things would never change.

* * *

Severus tried to concentrate on the book he was reading (_"Sleeping Soundly With Magical Aid", published 1728, revised 1799, 1834, 1899, 1977_), but found it difficult with all the noise. He tried to discreetly block one ear with his finger, but that did little to enable his concentration.

The drum beat was not even at a steady rhythm. It made Severus' head ache, as he tried poring over the book he had picked off of his master's shelf.

Teddy's screams made it so much worse. Every time he let a shrill scream out of his mouth, Severus panicked for half a moment, thinking something was terribly wrong. It only took an instant for his body to react to the sound, for all of his instincts to kick into gear. It was then that he remembered that Teddy was screaming out of happiness, not terror, and he was able to relax a bit.

Until the next scream came.

"No more! No more! I'm going to puke!" Master laughed, refusing to spin Teddy around yet another time. "Too dizzy! Too dizzy!"

"Too dizzy!" Teddy laughed, spinning himself around two and half times before falling onto his bum.

Severus hardly understood what was so much fun about behind held by your hands and spun around until you fell, but apparently it brought Teddy joy. As much as his head hurt from the loud radio and the shrieks of laughter, he smiled at Teddy's enthusiasm.

And winced once Teddy let out another shriek, as Master caved to spin him 'one more time'.

The book would be the source to their problems, Severus was sure. Not all of their problems, because right off-hand he could not begin to count them all. It would solve two very large ones, however; it could help Master most importantly, and then Severus find some rest.

Potions were out of the question. Master had found himself addicted to Dreamless Sleep, which would greatly hinder his career as an Auror, as far as Severus was aware; Aurors needed Dreamless Sleep on occasion after encountering something particularly terrifying, but Master could never trust himself with the potion again. It could be years until the body recovered from the effects over overdosing, and he was able to resume to a normal dose, were he to use it.

And if potions were out of the question for Master, they were out of the question for Severus, also.

Just as he had followed his master's example with the tea, he did not want to take potions to help him sleep without nightmares. To have the potions around would not only tempt his master, but taunt him so; if Severus was in a position to avoid that, he would.

Spells were another idea Severus was toying around with. Dream-catchers had a foundation in magic. Modern day dream-catchers Severus knew to be mostly ornaments in magical, and even Muggle homes, however with the correct charms in place, they could help in filtering the dreams. 'Help' was the key word; you couldn't block all dreams from occurring, and Severus wasn't even sure it was healthy to do so.

Master picked up a pouting Teddy, and began dancing to the music wildly. "Dance with me, Teddy!" He was shouting dramatically, increasing the pulsing of Severus' temple.

He had never been fond of the Weird Sisters, or most Wizard wrock. He had listened to Muggle rock on and off in his teen years, but it had been more of a social thing than a real affection. The popularity of punk had affected him a short time before he discovered that rebellion was not what it was cracked up to be, after he joined ranks with the Dark Lord.

Severus shuddered.

"Okay, enough. Breathe. Calm down. It's almost time for bed." Master sat, red-faced and sweaty, on the carpet with his godson.

Surely Master knew the last thing to do with a small child before putting it to bed was to get it all worked up? Severus had never encountered small children before meeting Teddy, and even he knew that. He wished he were in a position to advise or make suggestions to his master, but unfortunately he was not.

"Shall I bring him a cup of juice?" Severus closed the book, ready to be of service however possible.

"Nah; Mrs. Weasley said no more juice when he's going to sleep. She said it could rot his teeth. What's Percy's excuse, though, if she didn't put him down for bed with juice?" Master didn't look up from the extraordinary stack of blocks he was building with his wand.

Severus supposed that was a rhetorical question. "Shall I put milk, or-"

"I guess he'll scream if we don't give him something. Water; milk will spoil. Thanks, Severus."

Taking his time to relieve his headache, Severus filled one of Teddy's small cups, and brought it to his master, who had already scooped the child in his arms. "Thanks, Severus. I really- you okay?" Master's eyebrows furrowed.

Severus could tell a lie, in fact he could tell a lie very well. He was not, however, permitted to. "I suppose so, Master. I think the music, being turned up as it is-"

Master's eyes filled with understanding. "Oh, right. Yeah, I guess that happens when people get old- not that- never mind. You may turn it down, or change the station. Both, if you like. I'll be down in a few minutes."

Severus stared at the radio. He had not been permitted to touch the dials of a radio in so long. It was going on two years that he had been a slave, and he had only once touched the dial of a radio since then - to dust it off, at Master and Mistress Weston's home.

He remembered the long hours he spent, seated on the plush white carpet, staring into space. He remembered sitting there as the Westons laughed and chortled over a French comedienne who performed nightly. He had been unable to understand a word of it, and wondered if he was meant to. He had remembered thinking that he would spend the rest of his life in their small flat, and that perhaps he would get a chance to change it to a station he preferred, perhaps if they left on holiday without him at some point.

And now, Master was giving him permission to not only touch the radio, but control it? That was such a rare opportunity for him; it was a shame he could not remember the station he had grown up listening to with his mother. Somewhere, over the years, the numbers of the station had gotten lost in his head.

Cautiously, he put his fingers on the wooden volume dial, and turned the screaming witches to a lower volume. He then explored with the other wooden knob, turning it this way and that, searching for any other station but that one.

Stopping at every break in the static, he quickly became aware of not only the news happening in the Wizarding world, but the Muggle world as well. He quickly heard the low-down of what Tony Blair was doing in office, and about a car explosion in London earlier that day. He was able to listen to real-life audio of Quidditch players, whereas the _Prophet_ was only able to offer pictures. He was able to hear the big band music from the 1940's, and the chants for peace that had ignited the 1960's.

And still, he kept looking.

Master bounded down the stairs, two at a time. "Find anything good?"

Severus shook his head. "No, Master. Not as of yet." Master did not tell him to stop, so he continued looking through the stations.

Master picked up the book Severus had left on the coffee table, and turned it over in his hands. "Oh, you're reading this. Ginny Owled it to me, and said it might be some sort of help, but I haven't taken the time to look at it yet. I have so many things to turn into work that I think I'm going to lose my head."

If only Severus could offer to do some that work for him without being told 'no', or risk his owner getting in trouble at his job. "I am still reading about blockage, with spells. I think it sounds too risky to endeavour at this point. Speaking as someone who lives to see you live the best life possible," Severus paused for the emphasis to be felt at his words, "I would prefer you continue to take Dreamless Sleep, having it mostly be ineffective, than to block dreams unnaturally."

Master frowned. "What's wrong with not dreaming?"

"People dream every night, Master. If you told me to go to sleep, and to not dream, I am afraid that as much as I tried, I would not be able to obey; my body's functions would override whatever I was determined to accomplish." He explained to his master the sleep cycles, wondering just how much of what he said went right over his master's head.

"So blockage is a bad idea, got it." Master sat on the sofa with his cup of warm milk, a better alternative to hot water. "What else are you thinking?"

"Well, you are currently detoxing from both Dreamless Sleep, and caffeine," Severus began. "Both addictions are-"

"-tea isn't an addiction. It's a habit." Master protested.

Master was wrong, however Severus was unable to argue. He would never be able to argue with the man. "Both habits will leave you feeling more tired than usual as an end result, though it doesn't seem that affects your nightmares in any way; you still have them, regardless of how tired you are?"

Miserably, Master nodded.

Severus found classical music, and satisfied with that particular station, asked to join his master on the sofa.

"I think the obvious route to go would involve a Pensieve," Severus said. "Now, obviously, a simple vial will work for holding memories as well, but this book recommends viewing the memories for what they truly are. I am not sure you need to try that, but if you have access to a Pensieve, you might wish to try."

"So the least I need is a glass vial?" Master snorted. "Haven't you witnessed my Dreamless Sleep habit? I've got one hundred bottles alone piled in by bedroom."

Severus was not sure why that was something worth bragging over. "If you remove the memories from your mind that are troubling you, like you say, Malfoy Manor, it will distance you from them. You will still be able to remember it all of course, but emotionally you are detached. They still mean something to you, but they are hardly on the forefront of your mind."

"So I won't dream about them," Master said.

"Hypothetically. Hopefully, that is. _Hopefully_. However, there are loopholes. The memories now out of the way, some other bad memories might come to front. Do you oftentimes have nightmares about the night your godfather died?"

Master shook his head. "Normally that's clouted out with other stuff. Why? Is that a bad sign? Does that make me a-" he stopped, chewing his lip in an action reminiscent of Severus.

"It means that it may start happening, if you tuck other nightmarish memories away. This idea is not, however, a solution. Your mind can still make up whatever it likes for a nightmare; it doesn't need a memory to base it off of." The way Severus phrased that, it didn't sound like much help, but he imagined it would be. Bad dreams were manageable if they were just that - bad dreams. If they could get the worst, chronic dreams off of his master's mind, it could prove most beneficial.

"We could always try it." Master shrugged. "It's not dangerous or anything, taking out memories and putting them into vials?"

"As long as you're cautious." Severus said. "You have memories that this world considers very valuable. If someone could steal a vial with your memories in it, they would become billionaires overnight."

* * *

_If someone could steal a vial with your memories in it, they would become billionaires overnight._

He didn't want the world to see his first kiss, the way he fumbled during his first sexual encounter, the way he couldn't get it up with Angela. He didn't want the world to see how he and Ron fought while Horcrux-hunting, his cocky attitude during his fifth-year. He didn't want the image of he and Voldemort fighting to the end displayed in every newspaper. He didn't want Severus' privacy to be shot, so that everyone could read loosely-written accounts of the secret war hero's battle, complete with illustrations of his mangled, torn, broken body, wrapped in chains.

Harry flushed. "Yeah, I think that'd be a bad idea."

Severus blinked. "Really? Not to question you, Master," he quickly said, "never question you. I only thought that this would be the option you chose."

How could he explain to Severus his fears? Severus used to taunt him - back before the end of the War - about being concerned with his public image. He didn't want to admit that, for not only his sake but for the sakes of those around him, that was now true.

However, he saw daily in Severus' eyes the trust he had in him. Severus trusted Harry with everything; he never hesitated in bearing his innermost thoughts, stripping naked in front of him; he never held any barriers between them. Who was Harry to deny him every single one of those things?

_To make us more equal, I should do that,_ it hit him for the first time. _To make Severus feel like less the slave, and to see me less like the master... he can't get to my level. At a certain point, he has to stop rising, because there's a limit of how high he can go. But there's no limit to how low I can go, between the two of us._

Thrilled over this revelation, Harry spoke. "It's just that- fuck, it sounds clearer in my head than it does when I try to say it. What happens if someone finds my memories? I don't think it's worth the privacy invasion of everyone around me, just because I can't stand my nightmares. There are so many things in my head, like that time in the graveyard, or the first girl I had sex with, or you in the barn when I first found you ...wouldn't that be such a violation of privacy for not only me, but the people involved? I don't think that's fair."

To his surprise, Severus nodded. "It is very kind of you to think of others before yourself, Master. However, are those the memories who invoke nightmares for you? Does the image of me, does the thought of your first lady friend really invoke such nightmares that you wake up screaming?"

How Severus knew Harry woke up screaming in the night, just as he did, Harry didn't know. He didn't challenge it though; he flushed. "My ...my first girlfriend? Well, no; that was Ginny. I love Ginny, but just not like that. I think our relationship has recovered, mostly, from the thing with Weston. I think we understand each other now."

"Master Nathan, Master?" Severus verified.

Harry nodded. "That's kind of complicated. Not to get way too off-topic, so I can explain that later."

"Mistress Ginny is with Master Nathan to learn inside information on Master Malfoy." Severus stated, knowledgeably.

Harry's mouth fell open. "How'd you know that?"

Severus shrugged his thin shoulders. "As a slave, people oft forget that I am even in the room - which is how it should be. I hear a lot."

"Oh." Harry wondered what things he had done and said without knowing Severus in the room. Guilt plagued him, making him wonder if he had unknowingly made Severus feel inferior, after all his effort to make him feel equal.

Severus didn't seem to let it bother him, however. "If those thoughts don't give you nightmares, there is no need to store them in the vial. It is only the memories that spike your nightmares you need to be concerned with with. For example, the battle in the graveyard I imagine is something that we need to be concerned over." Severus leaned over to the small table on either side of the sofa, to pick up a pad of paper and a Muggle pen. He began listing things and that familiar scrawl Harry knew so well. "The battle in the graveyard. The Final Battle."

"The whole Final Battle." Harry added, remembering not only the terrifying moment of killing Voldemort, but all the dead faces, thinking Snape himself had died.

Severus nodded, taking note of that. "At the Department of Mysteries."

"How'd you know that?" Harry asked again. Had Severus been using Legillimency on him without his knowledge? Would he even do that?

Severus' face portrayed no emotion. "I know you loved your godfather very much."

"I still do." Harry said, rubbing his arms together, feeling a sudden chill. "I miss him so much, it hurts, sometimes. I think I really need him now more than ever, even though the reality is I've done the hard part already by killing Voldemort."

Being completely honest with Severus was a lot harder than he thought it would be. He wondered how Severus could do it so easily.

Severus brushed his hair out of his face. "What else might we place in the vial?"

"Malfoy Manor. The Snatchers. Dobby dying. Any time I've ever been Crucioed. Hedwig dying. Finding out that Moody died. Cedric's face when he died." Harry rattled off.

Severus held up his hand. "I cannot write that fast, Master. And please, but are all of these memories absolutely necessary? I realise you miss your familiar, but does his death make up the worst part of your nightmares?"

"Her," Harry softly corrected. "Hedwig was a girl. And no, no, not the worst, but I hate seeing it. And knowing I'm the reason Dobby died, and the reason Moody died, and the reason Cedric-"

Severus nodded, scrawling these things down. "Are these the majority of the issues at hand?"

_Harry-hunting. Being the in cupboard. All the spiders. Uncle Vernon's belt. The time Dudley and Piers held me down and- _"Yeah. The majority of the stuff in my nightmares. I had some bad things happen at the Dursleys, but nothing in comparison."

Severus tore the top sheet of paper off the pad, and handed it to Harry. "Here."

"What's this for?" Harry looked at the list Severus had given him, and noticed that Severus had somehow left space for it to be chronological as possible. He didn't know how to put memories into a vial; could you spill them?

"To give to Mistress Brown," Severus simply said. "Tucking your memories away will be a last resort, but since this is a large step to take, it might be wise to consult her first. However, it is of course not my place to advise you, and you are free to do whatever you will."

Harry knew that. It was also his place to pick out Severus' therapy for him. "What happens if someone steals my vial of memories, though?"

Severus looked at Harry in wonderment. "They won't."

"They won't?"

"Not if you place it in my charge, they won't." Severus said. "As long as I am owned by you, I can guarantee its safety. I will protect it with my very life."

Harry had no doubt he would. "But my privacy isn't more important than your life, to me."

"It is to me." Severus' eyes were serious as they caught Harry's briefly, before he brought them back down.

Harry shook his head. "I think Gringotts bank is safe enough. It's only been broken into twice, and I can tell you from first-hand experience that it's very, very difficult to do. I doubt anyone should find it, especially if I bury it in a small pile of Knuts - no one would ever look through my Knuts." He flushed at the innuendo.

Severus nodded. "More ideal might be your other vault."

"The Black vault?" Harry wondered out loud. He also wondered if he would be able to fit a single vial in it without the gold coming tumbling down.

"Your _other_ vault." Severus repeated.

"What other vault?"

"The vault that become yours once you purchased me," Severus lifted his chin. "The vault that was once mine, when I owned myself."

_Snape's vault. _Of course Severus had a vault at Gringotts. It was the only Wizarding bank in the country. It wasn't as if Severus had hid his gold in his chimney, though he could see him distrusting the establishment enough to.

"I would have thought your other masters would have emptied it out."

Severus cocked his head. "Master Mering would not have been allowed to, and Master and Mistress Weston would not have needed to - Mistress Weston might have, had she wanted to hide her lavish purchases from Master, however there was not enough in there to really make a dent in a single shopping trip of hers." He bit his lip. "I shouldn't have said that."

Harry laughed, the face of Hagrid appearing in his mind. "Hagrid."

Severus smiled smally. "Hagrid. Yes, and the Monster and Master Mueller lived so far away they would not have been able to access my vault for more Galleons than it was worth. So the odds are ..." his voice trailed. "The odds are that there is money there to hide your vial, where no one would think to look."

Harry must have had a pleased look on his face, because Severus hastened to add, "There would not be much, Master; I made very little as Potions Master, and what I did might have been confiscated by the Ministry for Magic to pay for the war's damages."

"That's not fair," Harry tried to remember just what the newspapers advertising Snape's arrest had said. "Taking a few Galleons from the Lestrange's vault is one thing, but selling your house and taking your few Galleons is different; it's all you have."

Severus bobbed his head. "Had, yes. And yet somehow, it does not bother me. I think I might have lost other things the day of my arrest that were of greater value."

_Like your personality. Not like there was much to lose, or that it was too much of a loss. But your freedom, such as it was. _"My memories," Harry tried to tried to get them back on track, "we've figured out. But what of yours? What ones of yours do you want to hide away?"

Severus hung his head. "I am afraid this method, this quick fix, is not at all possible for me."

"What? Why not?"

"There is too much to put aside. There is so much that is non-specific, that might have happened, but very well could be a figments of my imagination." Severus chewed his lip as he stared into space. "Things at the Monster's were always dark, and always terrible. In my dreams, it is almost always dark, and always terrible. The line between reality and nightmares long ago blurred."

That was incredible, though not in a good way. "Well, can't you just put the memory away, anyway, even if it's not a real memory? If someone forcing your finger into an electrical socket is your nightmare, it doesn't matter if it's real or not. You can still put it in the vial, right?"

"No, I cannot. The mind is very complex, and if the memory is not real, I can hardly trick myself - the magic - into thinking it is. Even though it possibly may be."

Harry lost him somewhere in there. "But even if your entire life has been nightmarish, there has to be some things you'd like to put aside."

Severus gave him a long, appraising look. "There is."

"Like?" Harry prodded.

Severus began writing on a pad of paper. "When I joined the Dark Lord. When I betrayed your mother. When I lost your mother to your father. Two dozen specific times I said something I recall as hurtful to you, in your younger years. Pledging my allegiance to Dumbledore." He frowned. "There are far too many 'I's in this list."

Repetitive words were the least of Harry's worries. "This is all pre-slavery," he pointed to Severus' list. "None of this has to do with torture, punishment, rules, rape, and mind-fuck."

"Must it?" Severus looked at Harry. "I thought it was what we must needed to distance ourselves from in our minds."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he let Severus continue.

"The memories I select to put into vials must first be viewed by you," Severus said. "My master is to approve all. Several of these memories you might have already seen, however it would be best if you saw them again, in my very humble opinion, as in the context-"

_Saw them again_. Harry remembered very little from Occlumency lessons, except screaming matches and desperation, but he remembered one thing Snape had told him late one night. "How can I see them again?" Harry wanted to know. "Isn't one memory just one memory? It's not endless - if you put it in a vial and lose it, it's gone forever."

Severus sat the pad of paper aside, and moved to his knees at Harry's feet, for reasons Harry wasn't sure. "Yes, Master; you are correct."

_But I lost your memories. I put them somewhere and never gave them back. _"I lost your memories."

"And what was lost was found, and quickly returned to me." Severus inclined his head. "Miner- Mistress McGonagall knew what the vial was. I imagine she had to look inside to find out, however at the time I was too grateful to be alive to really be angry I lost dignity to her."

_'I lost my dignity to the spawn of James' Potter, only weeks previously, by giving him the vial; why would I care if Mistress McGonagall had seen them?' _The words that popped into Harry's head were hopefully not the ones in Severus' mind.

"So you've got the memories," Harry said, relief flooding through him. "That's wonderful! I thought they were gone for good."

Severus frowned. "Yes, Master; it is wonderful."

They spoke in quiet conversation for a few minutes, about where to hide the vials, on why Severus' vial was just as important to hide properly as Harry's, of why they had to talk to Mistress Brown about their memories, and how they didn't want to because then she would what to know how they _felt_ about them.

"It is numbness," Severus said, lying his head in Harry's lap as Harry finger-combed his hair. "I feel regret, but at the same time, am so thankful for my stupidity as I am not unaware that it led to my master eventually winning the war."

It was so hard to hear Severus speak in normal conversation, just as Snape might have to a colleague years ago, and then bring up his ownership. He brought it up so casually as if it were a party, or photo, or a piece of pie.

"It all ends up just feeling numb inside of me," Severus reiterated. "However, she will not be satisfied with that answer."

"Just tell her the same thing you told me," Harry encouraged. "If she doesn't like it, tough. I'm going to tell her that when I think of the graveyard, I think of guilt. I am so angry, but mostly guilt If I had killed Voldemort right then and there, Sirius would still be alive. You might not be a slave. Fred would still be with us, as would Dobby, Hedwig, Colin, and Christ - a ton of others!"

"Master," Severus lifted his head, speaking in a quiet voice, "with the Horcruxes, it would not have-"

He didn't get to finish, as the alarm on Harry's warding sounded.

Harry leapt to his feet. "Oh, no. Severus, hide. Wait! Don't hide! There's no reason for paranoia. Why don't you go watch Ted- no. Um, sit down. Or kneel down. Yeah, just stay kneeling down, and don't- don't bite your lip like that. It's probably just Ginny, or maybe Seamus. I haven't added them to the warding yet."

That was a lie. Ginny was in the warding exclusions, and though Seamus wasn't, Harry knew it couldn't be him. The Irish native was living in Belfast, working a steady job in a Muggle shop from 9-5, and then in a Wizarding pub from 9-3. He couldn't possibly be at Harry's front door.

But Severus didn't need to know that. Despite Harry's newfound resolution for them to feel (as they couldn't possibly be, in reality) on the same equal level, he still felt a strong sense to protect the other man. He didn't want to scare Severus, unless absolutely necessary. If that took a little white lie every now and again, so be it.

He pulled open the door, surprised to see that it was poring rain outside; he hadn't noticed any lightening through the windows.

There, on the verandah, was the last thing Harry wanted to see, or had expected to see. He had expected a news reporter, a person with Wizarding Family Services, an Auror, or maybe Lucius Malfoy come back to cause more trouble.

He hadn't expected to see a drenched ferret on his doorstep.

**Coming Up Next in _Unwell_...**

**Chapter Seventy-Five: _Begging for Mercy_**


	75. Begging For Mercy

**Chapter Seventy-Five**

**"Begging for Mercy"**

Severus tried the breathing exercises Mistress Brown had recommended to him, while Master conversed with the man at the door. He stared at his knees, covered by the draping emerald fabric of his robes. He tried to count backwards from three hundred. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

"You're not supposed to _be_ here," were the first words Severus heard out of his master's mouth.

"I know." The man had his pointed chin tucked into his body as he shivered in the rain Severus hadn't realised was out there. "May I come in?"

Master blocked the open doorway, so that Severus could no longer see their visitor, and their visitor no longer him. "Over my dead body."

Perhaps he had Polyjuiced himself to look like his son. Perhaps he obtained a Time-Turner, went back into the early 1970's, gave his younger self a- _no_. It was easier to believe the two former ideas, of course, because there was no obvious reason to explain away Draco Malfoy at his master's front door.

Severus had not known what started the feud, and to be honest, in those seven years, he hadn't cared. Everyone in the school knew that Potter and Malfoy feuded, but it hadn't surprised anyone. That was what Potters and Malfoys did. It had been little more than their birthright.

Now that they had both left school, and moved on with their lives, Severus doubted his master thought often about the blonde Slytherin. He knew _he_ rarely did. Though he had risked his life for him on several occasions, he was still another passing face of all the Slytherins Severus had taught over the years, all the people he had risked his life for.

He had never expected to see him again, and most certainly not on a social visit to his master.

He could not hear what young Master Malfoy was saying to Master, but he could hear Master's loud responses back.

"Just give you a chance?" Master laughed bitterly. "I've given you chances, Malfoy. Thousands of them. You have lost them every time. I'm done giving you chances. Go away, or I will see that armed Aurors Apparate into my garden right-"

Master producing his own wand would have scared any sensible person off running, but Master never saw it that way. He didn't seem to understand how highly people thought of him, and his powers, and abilities.

"Look, your dad is going to get what he deserves," Master's voice hadn't lost its hard edge. "He almost killed Ginny. He almost killed- oh, don't give me that. He knew no good was going to come of that diary."

The diary. That had been a year in hell. Severus did not often revisit that year in his mind's eye, as it was an unpleasant trip. To think that not only Hogwarts had pipes big enough for a Basilisk to slither through, but a Basilisk had actually been slithering through them.

"You've nothing to offer me." Master ran his fingers through his hair - Severus could see from the back of his head that it was sticking up more than usual. "The only thing you can offer me now is that you'll leave me and my family the hell alone- yeah, my family. Me, Teddy, and Severus. We're more family than you've ever had, and more of a family than you'll ever have."

_Family_. Were they family? Certainly Master and Teddy were family; it had taken many months, but now they were father and son by all accounts, save blood. Slaves were rarely considered family by their owners, but Master was not a typical owner by any means of the word 'typical'.

"Of course he's family! God, where've you been, Malfoy? Under a rock? In a stone tower on an island, in the middle of the ocean? Oh, did that hurt your feelings? I'm sorry."

Master hardly sounded sorry. He sounded vicious, and mean. Severus squirmed, having not seen this side to his master since being owned by him.

"Yes, he's awake. No, you can't- that's none of your business. No, he doesn't want to see you! He's perfectly content doing his- actually, he was perfectly content until you walked in the door."

It was a few moments before Master spoke again. "Never again? Why do I doubt that?... No, he can't... because I don't allow him to... that's none of your business... well, too bad, so sad. You know I'm not- ...never again? What happens if you break that promise?"

Whatever young Master Malfoy's answer was, Master must have been pleased with it, because he stepped aside, and ushered young Master Malfoy in. "Dry yourself off. Water repelling charms are still 'in', you know." Master didn't offer to take young Master Malfoy's hat or coat like he might another guest, and instead stood with his arms crossed.

Young Master Malfoy looked around the sitting room with interest until his eyes landed on Severus; he quickly looked away.

Master marched back over to the sofa, and returned to his original seat. He brought Severus back over to his knees, his hands on his shoulders protectively. "Sit." He said to young Master Malfoy.

"Um, okay." Fidgeting, young Master Malfoy perched on the edge of the armchair. "Can I- Can I talk to him?"

"I don't know, can you?" Master bitterly spoke. Severus was too privately congratulating his master for remembering the key differences between the words 'may' and 'can' to notice young Master Malfoy's annoyed face.

"Hello, Severus," he greeted him. "Do you... do you remember me?"

Severus nodded slightly, mindful of the hands on his shoulders; he had to respect his master, and remain on his grounds, his side, at all costs. "Yes, young Master Malfoy. Hello. Might I get you a glass of water?" He would offer tea, but they no longer kept that in their household. Shame to the crown, they were.

Master's fingers clenched into Severus' shoulders, but he did not say anything.

The grey eyes widened. "Water? Um, no, I'm okay; I've had enough." The now dry Malfoy motioned to the windows, and the rain that the charmed windows did not show. "So, um, how've you been?"

"This isn't a social call, Malfoy." Master said in a warning tone. "If you have something to say, say it."

Young Master Malfoy fidgeted again. "Well, it's like this; I only have one father."

Of course he did. Most only did. If they were fortunate to have godparents, such as Teddy was, then they could have two, but to have such a close relationship with one's godfather was rare, indeed.

"Pity." From Master's tone, Severus guessed he didn't really think it was a pity at all.

Young Master Malfoy paused. "I know this is going to be hard for you to understand. Not because your father is dead, but because you know my father, or rather, you think you do."

That had not been a tactful way of reminding Master that his father was deceased.

"He used to tell me stories, about dragons and stuff, and taught me how to fly my first broomstick. He used to bring my mother orchids every Sunday morning, and-"

"-this makes me sick!" Master complained. "I get it - Lucius Malfoy is a complete sweetheart, and you don't want me to pursue him getting labelled as a Death Eater."

Young Master Malfoy shook his head. "That's unavoidable. I know you're going to do it, and I know I can't stop you. But an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth ... that's not really fair, is it?"

Personally, if Severus' opinion was worthy of being asked, he might have said that he thought it was more than fair. Not in all cases, of course, but in most cases in order to properly get revenge on a person was to do the same thing back to them. Then, there were no worries of the revenge not being strong enough, or being too much to spark another attack. It was the perfect balance, but then again not, it was important to stress, in all cases.

He was surprised to find a fellow Slytherin suddenly thinking differently.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Master said. "Are you threatening me with Azkaban?"

"What? No!" Young Master Malfoy's face drained of any colour it might have possessed. "My God, no. I'm just saying, just because of what my dad did to Sna- Professor Snape doesn't mean you have to do the same thing to get revenge. Potter, don't give me that look; I'm practically begging you not to."

Master sat perfectly still. "What did your dad do to Severus?"

"Well, you know ..." Young Master Malfoy indicated to Severus uncomfortably.

"I don't think I do. Enlighten me."

Young Master Malfoy sat in silence.

It was in moments like this it was frustrating to be a slave. Severus had ideas of what the two were thinking, and had a feeling that if he spoke, all confusion would be sorted out in less than a minute. But he had not been invited to speak, and therefore he was disallowed to talk when there were guests about.

Master red not aware of all those rules, however, and it would seem he might prefer such an indigression.

He tugged on his Master's trouser leg.

"What?" Master's eyes went from angry to kind in an instant, as he looked from young Master Malfoy to Severus. "What is it?"

"Might I speak? I think I might be able to shed some light on the situation," Severus softly spoke.

Master nodded his consent, so Severus began, "Are you referring to my being a slave, young Master Malfoy?"

"Um, can you call me 'Draco'?"

"No, sir."

"Well, then ... yeah." Young Master Malfoy nodded, uncertainty written on his face.

Master only looked confused. "Wait. How does Lucius Malfoy tie in with-"

Severus took a deep breath, preparing to explain. "Master Malfoy - senior, that is - was angry that I had evaded punishment ordered to the followers of the Dark Lord. He was angry because he thought that I had betrayed the Dark Lord."

Master's eyes flashed. "If anyone did, it was him, not you. You were never on Voldemort's side."

"I was." Severus reminded Master, hoping his master wouldn't see it as a argument. "For a brief stint of time, I was, and that was what Master Malfoy found as a loophole, to put me in this position. Were it not for him, I am unsure of where I would be at this moment, but I am most certain I would not be on my knees, in front of you, Master." He hesitated, watching the expressions cross his masters face. Deducing that this was a good time to tell the whole truth, he added, "I am very lucky, however, as right now, there is no place I would rather be."

Master's face reddened. Severus would have thought it was from embarrassment, if he hadn't seen those eyes darken. Master looked up at young Master Malfoy. "Severus doesn't lie."

"It _was_ a _loophole_!" Master Malfoy exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Anyone could have- And he does too lie; you're just too thick to see it."

That was hardly the truth. Severus never lied to his master. He rarely lied to anyone. He knew he had in his past life, quite frequently in fact, but that was his past life. Now, the risks of lying were too great; last time he had told a white lie to someone, under the effort of protecting his master, Master had made Severus go to sleep early for three nights, not something lightly taken when you hated being up in a dark room by yourself.

"Anyone _could_ have found the loophole," Master said evenly, "but not just anyone _did_. He was looking for it, and made sure that everyone knew that Severus wasn't as exempt from the law as we thought. Now that I think about it, I'd better talk to Kingsley; I wouldn't be surprised if he blackmailed the Ministry. At its weak state at the time, it's certainly possible."

"He didn't!" Young Master Malfoy weakly protested. Whenever Malfoy's nostrils flared, Severus remembered that he was telling a lie.

Master stood up, getting around Severus. "You can go now."

Young Master Malfoy clasped his hands together in a begging motion. "I'm not asking for much, am I? I just don't want him to have the same thing happen to him that happened to Snape, that happened to the others. He can go to Azkaban, he can be put to death, even. But not this. Please."

Severus considered this. Was his fate really worse than death? There had been times that he wished he was dead, there had been times he had hoped that he was dead. As a matter of fact, he had a memory that was nothing more than a blur, of a white room - perhaps he _had_ been dead.

However, did he wish he was now? Did he wish to escape from his master, when he was being honest with himself? He found that he didn't. He didn't want to be free, to live alone in his old house, to teach at the school he had taught at for years. He was quite content at his master's feet.

Everything it had taken to get to such a comfortable state, however, mightn't have been worth it. Would he really prefer living his life out in Azkaban or a similar Wizarding prison, over the months of training and torture he had endured?

It was something to consider, though it hardly mattered for him.

"Look, I'm not denying that seeing your enemies grovel can be satisfying," young Master Malfoy said. "And I know that we have a very different set of morals. But this," he motioned to Severus, "is wrong."

Was it wrong? Was it wrong that after willingly devoting himself to the Dark Lord, he became a slave for the rest of his life? It sounded like bitter irony, a punishment that fit the crime. It was Severus' fault for joining the Dark Lord. He - Severus - had been a twisted man, crippled by his love of the Dark. He had a Dark soul, and it needed to be crushed.

_Don't be ridiculous. You had been a scared young man, and thought that by-_ Severus dismissed the thought before he could finish it. He needed to believe what Master Mering had drilled into him. If he didn't, he didn't know if he could survive.

Master uncrossed his arms, and hung them to his side. Two of his fingers dangled in Severus' hair, but they did not dance or move back and forth soothingly. "It is."

Young Master Malfoy looked from Severus to Master, and back again. "So you're not pushing for slavery?"

"I'm not pushing for anything. I only reported him, have testified, and will do so again if asked. I don't get to choose his sentence, or even the verdict. That's up to the Wizengamot."

Though Severus saw and heard more than his master, thought, he had had no idea that Master was pushing for Lucius Malfoy to go to prison. It did not surprise him, however; the man had almost killed Gik, and had succeeded in aborting all of her kittens.

Young Master's Malfoy's hand lingered on the doorknob of the front door. "They're starting to poke around in my mother's past, in the Crabbe's past, and the Goyle's past."

"They all lied about being under the Imperious curse too. If their lies are found out, it's not my fault." Master shrugged.

"But what of _me_?" Young Master Malfoy almost shouted. "I only did it because I had to - if I didn't, he would have killed my parents! My _family_!"

Severus thought back to the night young Master Malfoy had publicly received the Dark Mark. He could remember how the young man flinched, and coiled back. He could remember the pointed face in a look of determination and fear, rather than the awe that most future Death Eaters had at receiving the Dark Mark.

"You aren't going to say that there are some people not worth saying, are you?" Young Master Malfoy lowered his voice to a reasonable tone, as he glanced over at Severus. "Don't you understand that I had to? They're my parents - I couldn't be the one responsible for their deaths."

Master waited a moment before speaking. "I am sure that if you have a trial, I will be asked to testify. There, I'll do my best. I'm not lying on the stand, though, Malfoy. If the weight of my words put your father to death, it's not my fault; it's his. And Malfoy," he waited until Malfoy had almost completely exited the house, "it wouldn't have been your fault they were murdered. It would have been Voldemort wielding the wand, and it would have been their faults for getting involved with a crazy man's schemes. They should have known better."

"You got involved in Dumbledore's schemes, and you're still here." Malfoy pointed out.

Surprisingly, that led Master to chuckle. "Touché."

**Coming Up Next In **_**Unwell...**_

_**Chapter Seventy-Six: First Dance**_

_A/N_: _Once again, the uploading of a chapter has been delayed. I have been very busy at work of late, but have no excuses otherwise. I apologize with sincerity, and hope the next chapter makes the wait worth it. Thanks for reading - it means a lot._


	76. First Dance

**Disclaimer:** _I_ _do_ _not_ _own_ _ "_ _Harry_ _Potter_ _" _ _or_ _any_ _characters_ _from_ _it._ _I_ _am_ _making_ _no_ _money_ _from_ _the_ _writing_ _of_ _this_ _story._

**Chapter** ** Seventy-Six  
** **"** **First** **Dance** **"**

* * *

His wrist ached from writing; his sweaty hands made the feathered quill stick to his fingers. He wanted to change to his left hand, or maybe stop to get a glass of water, but forced himself to carry on; just one more paragraph and he would be ...

"Done!" Harry victoriously cried, throwing down the thick pile of parchment onto the coffee table.

Severus slid off of the sofa onto his knees, and secured the papers properly so that they would not fall into the wrong order. "Congratulations. Shall I begin seeking out publishers?"

The publishers of Great Britain were off their rockers. Broomsbury had offered him eighty-seven billion Galleons last week to write a memoir, while Harry could barely finish his dissertation before the deadline. He was glad Severus could find the offer so humorous; he didn't.

"It's shite." He shook his wrist until he felt a _crack!_ "That probably wouldn't stop them from publishing it, though."

Severus returned to sitting on the sofa beside Harry, and took Harry's wrist into his hand. Holding his forearm in one hand, he expertly rotated Harry's wrist clockwise, and then counter-clockwise. "I am not sure I understand the point of turning in the paper to your professors if it is, as you termed it, 'shite'."

Harry flushed. He hadn't ever heard Severus swear before, even in quoting him. He pulled his wrist away. "It's as good as it's going to get, I reckon."

"Shall I number the pages for you?" Severus peered at the completed dissertation.

Harry had forgotten that needed to be done. He could never keep track of which instructors preferred it, or for which projects it was required. "Nah, I'll do it later. But get me out of this, and I'll buy you a pony." He carelessly tossed a crisp white envelope to Severus.

He put his forehead in his hands, and shut his eyes as he heard Severus carefully break through the seal of the envelope. Harry hadn't even bothered opening the letter, delivered to him at work not by a strong Ministry owl, but a footman. It hadn't taken him but a few minutes to learn its contents from an owl from Ron, and then he had had an hour to contemplate it all - an hour spent running around the track. Any other student, they would have already kicked out of the Auror Programme for breaking all the rules that he did.

It had worked that way for him since he was eleven-years-old, though, and this time he actually had an excuse; the Auror Programme was just a required formality. Everyone already knew that Harry could go up against evil, and win. Though it was all credit due to the love of his parents and friends, and the hard work of Dumbledore, he could still do it. The reality was was that since the age of fifteen, he had been a solider.

And once a soldier, always a soldier.

The room was quiet as Severus read over the letter. Harry could hear the clock ticking; it wasn't helping his headache. He could really do with a cup of tea.

"Master, this is really important." The parchment crackled as Severus put the letter down. "They really mean for you to go to this."

Harry looked up again. Severus had put his reading glasses on to read the fine calligraphy, and was now looking intently at him.

"_They_ mean for me to go. It doesn't mean that I mean for me to go."

Severus looked back down at the letter. "I'm not sure that you _may_ say no, Master. This is quite serious. They have not even given you an option to refuse this invitation; there is not an R.S.V.P."

"What's that even mean?"

"'_Repondez, __s'il__vois__plait_'. 'Please reply'."

Of course it would be French. "So I've got no choice. The Ministry isn't inviting me; they are _summoning_ me."

Severus pulled off his glasses, and tucked them on the collar of his shirt. "Quite. And not only the Ministry, but her Majesty's government. Were you the only survivor to have their presence requested?"

_Survivor_ . Severus didn't like to get into specifics any more than Harry did. "No; Ron and Hermione were, too. No one else was though, not even Neville or Luna."

"It is about appearances then. It is what the public will be comfortable seeing photos of, things that will strike joy in their hearts. It Is not about reality. A Non-Magical/Wizarding Unity Ball is the combined efforts to lull the public into thinking everything is all right, the easiest thing they can do to make the two parties not fear each other, save Obliviating us all."

"Ron and Hermione aren't going to go." Harry said. "I got a letter from Ron earlier."

"They've got the option not to go, however." Severus handed the letter back to Harry. "Their smiling faces look nice next to yours, but are not necessary to complete the picture. If you decide to spend the evening in a pub, or home with us ...well, let us just say that it will be a very noticeable absence."

Harry made a face. The responsibility always seemed to fall to him. "But I can just go, smile, let them take a few photos, and leave, right?"

"Hypothetically, yes. If you strategically tell the right reporter that you cannot stay long, that you want to spend the evening spending quality time with your son, you might garner sympathy points from the public."

Harry didn't want sympathy points. "So I walk in, fist-bump Kingsley and the PM, share a drink with royalty, pose for a couple pictures, and leave, right? After making my strategic statement, of course."

"Yes, potentially. They might ask if you would say a few words-"

"-I don't make speeches. Can't I just tell someone ahead of time that I'm losing my voice?"

"You are not a talented liar, Master, and it does not become your Gryffindor senses." Severus' lips upturned slightly. "You might find it easier to step up to the podium, and say 'thank you for coming'. You might even find that an ideal time to mention the quality time with your son. Your half-blooded, half-werewolf son, it mightn't hurt to mention."

Severus continued. "A ball generally requires dress robes, something I know for a fact you do not own. If you do not mind, I can inquire to various designers for you. It will make the process fairly painless for you."

Harry appreciated the offer, but didn't trust Severus' sense of style any more than he trusted his own. The other day, Severus had dressed Teddy in mismatching clothing, and neither had thought anything of it until Ginny (who picked Teddy up from daycare on Mondays) had mentioned something.

Severus ticked the next item on his mental list. "You will need to bring a guest, and since Mistress Hermione is refusing to go on grounds of something political-"

How well Severus knew Hermione.

"-you could consider Master Ron, however he will in possibly one of the most intelligent moves of his life thus far, refuse to keep his ladyfriend happy."

Harry felt his face redden. He was trying to keep his sexuality discreet, to keep as many people from wondering about it as possible. Bringing a bloke along as his date, even as an obviously platonic date, would not help. That also left Severus out, though he would probably not be allowed to attend anyhow.

"Mistress Ginny would make a poor choice, and I would worry about what Mistress Lovegood would say in the short amount of time she would be present at such an event..." Severus pursed his lips. "I am trying to remember what other Gryffindors were in your year."

It hadn't been so long ago that those Gryffindors were sitting in the Potions classroom. Severus' Occlumency shields, though fully down, had created a distance in memories that time would only close the gap on. "One of the Patil sisters - and there is no way in hell she is going with me - Lavender, Um, there-"

Severus looked up. "Mistress Brown," he instantly said. "She will be perfect."

"She's also Ron's ex. Those kinds of things don't go over well with guys."

He waved his hand. "It is not as if you are taking her out with romantic intentions. I am sure all Lavender will be interested in is getting into a rich prince's trousers. Ask her to go with you. That is, it is what I suggest." He bit his lip.

Lately, Severus had been getting carried away with himself. Harry loved it, but Severus' conscience didn't, Severus was fine with giving almost-orders until he realised he wasn't supposed to be doing that; then his forehead burned.

Harry reached across the sofa and gently touched Severus' forehead, for only a moment, before Severus could enjoy it against his own will. "So all this means I have to go to this thing?"

" Absolutely." Severus nodded. "I am not the one giving this order; it is the law."

* * *

Harry's first ball had been essentially a disaster. He hadn't known how to dance, and hadn't wanted to dance. He hadn't had an interest in women (and still didn't have much of one, when he was honest with himself), and felt stupid dancing under the bright lights to"Do the Hippogriff".

That had only been in front of the older members of three schools, and staff; this would be in front of the people who made the most important decisions in Britain. That was a big deal. One fumble, and his name would go down in history as World's Biggest Idiot.

"Wait; it's a ball." He realised, out loud. "They're going to want me to dance."

Severus looked up from his book. "Yes, Master, we've just gone over this. However, you only need to dance a few times with preferably all Muggles; it will make their point of 'unity'."

This was bad. Really bad. Harry shook his head. "No, no, Severus, you don't understand. I can't dance."

"Nonsense; I saw you dance at the Yule Ball, do not forget. You weren't ...dismal." Severus made a face and leaned forward for Harry's touch.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well, I wasn't good, either. Hell, I wasn't even mediocre. I was the laughing stock of the ball."

"Trust me when I say nobody noticed. They were all too keen on themselves, and the visiting students, to even notice you."

"You noticed."

"That was different." Severus acknowledged. His jaw tightened. "Master, I-"

Harry touched Severus' forehead again. The practice was becoming routine; ten minutes couldn't seem to go by without Severus' head splitting in pain. If he could just force himself not to think of what he was not supposed to do, then the pain would stop; however, the spell-maker had thought of that. The spell was attached to something that, if one possessed one, they could never rid themselves of; a conscience.

"I'm not going. I don't care if they make me out to be a criminal, a hater of all Muggles," Harry firmly said. "I'm not dancing, and that's final."

"Because you dislike dancing."

"Because I'm not _good_ at it." Harry explained. Little had Pavarti Patil known that Harry had been saving her a trip to the infirmary when he had chosen not to dance with her; her slippered toes would have been black and blue by the end of the evening.

Severus stood, and moved over to the radio. He changed the station from the familiar wizarding wireless, to one of the upper stations.

"What are you doing?" Severus never changed the stations without invitation, just as he never prepared a meal for himself with being told to, or didn't make a decision without consulting Harry.

Severus beckoned Harry to stand up. "Please, Master; I wish to show you something."

Unsure, Harry got to his feet and moved over to him. The familiar waltzing music was already making his stomach tie in knots. "If you think you're going to teach me how to dance the girl's part, then you're-"

He didn't finish, as Severus guided Harry's hand underneath his shoulder blade, and took his other hand in his. "I am sure Mistress McGonagall taught you about the basic beats and rhythms?"

_I'm_ _dancing._ _With_ _Severus._ While he was slightly inclined to scowl at the reaction he knew Ron would have if he knew that Harry was dancing with Professor Snape, any such inclination was lost when he remembered that this _was_ Professor Snape. The same man, but as far as Harry was concerned, a different one entirely. That wasn't the bad thing Harry had once thought it was.

"You can call her 'Minerva', you know. It's not like you're saying it to her face." Harry muttered.

Severus ignored Harry, guiding him through the steps slowly. "Any dance you will be expected to engage in will be no more or less complicated than this one. It is crucial to maintain the proper distance of perhaps a person in between the two dancers; chances are, you will be dancing with a dignified individual you've not only never met, but who has romantic attachments to another equally significant individual."

"And then I'm chopped liver."

"If her lover perceives that you are getting in his way, yes." Severus bent down to awkwardly turn under Harry's arm; it looked so ridiculous Harry had to try hard not to laugh. "Do not dance with- that is, I do not think it would be wise if you danced with the same person twice, especially in a row."

Harry moved his hand off of Severus' back, and closed to gap between them to touch his forehead momentarily. "I told you I'm not good at this. I know you don't like Healers, but I'm probably going to have to take you to one tomorrow; you won't be able to walk."

"If ever we stumble, it is my fault for not knowing how to dance the part backwards." A small smile emancipated from Severus' lips as Harry stood on the balls of his feet to allow Severus a more comfortable spin.

The song ended, but they did not stop practising as the announcer came on. "Have you always done that?" Harry wanted to know.

"Spun under the man's arm? Hardly; you could consider me as new at this as you are." The next song that came on was very similar to the first, but Severus increased their speed anyhow, bringing them closer to the way you were supposed to dance it.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No. Blame yourself on every little thing. Ever since I've known you- well, ever since we moved in here, anything that goes wrong, however small, you blame on yourself."

"Do I?" Severus' guard had gone up.

"You do. If Teddy gets sick, it's your fault. If I spill an inkwell on myself while at work, it's your fault. It's kind of this chronic thing. You can't take the credit for everything."

Severus' eyes searched Harry for a moment. "You are joking."

"Partially." Harry assured him. "I'm not _mad_. But you do it, and I just want to know why. Is it because you're supposed to, or you think you're supposed to, or have you always done it? I never noticed it when I was in school. In fact," Harry grinned, "back then everything was _my_ fault, as I recall."

"Not every-" Severus protested, before taking in a sharp breath. "I might have made it out to be so."

Harry touched Severus' head again, as another song began to play. "So this behaviour is relatively new."

"I cannot say that I've noticed it before." Severus commented. "However, I find that most people are oblivious to their own behaviours a majority of the time. If it annoys you, I will attempt to rectify it."

"It _bothers_ me, but not for the most obvious reason." Harry could feel beads of sweat on his lip, though they were hardly dancing fast. "It makes me worry about you."

"I am inclined to ask you to not worry about me, and to apologise for invoking it." Severus tilted his head. "Shall I?"

"It'd be pointless. Better not." Harry arched his feet again, lifting his arm for Severus to crouch under.

The large portable radio fell from its place. It landed on the carpeted floor with a loud crash. It cuffed the toy box, leaving a small mark, and ending the music that flowed from within.

Severus startled, jumping far away from Harry.

It was pretty hard to break a Wizarding radio. They were very durable, and since they were held together by magic, difficult to break unless magic was involved. Then again, the accidental magic that had escaped Severus in his fright had not escaped Harry's notice.

Harry tucked his singed hands into his robes so that Severus couldn't see them; there was no reason for Severus to feel guilty over his accidental magic. It was Harry's fault, really, for not allowing Severus to use his wand. The magic that was built up inside Severus was just bursting to come out every chance it got.

Severus was standing by the bookcase. His normally pale face had become even paler in the dim room; his mouth was agape as he stared at the radio in shock.

"Hey," Harry's tone was very different than it had been only moments ago. He wasn't speaking like he was to a friend or peer, but like how he comforted Teddy when he slipped and bumped his head. "Hey Severus, it's okay. It was just an accident. I should have paid attention to where the radio was - we got too close to it, is all. You just bumped it. It's okay."

Severus began to shake as Harry enveloped his arms around him. "I-I-I'm sorry. I-I-I'm sorry, M-Master. I did not m-mean to-"

"I know." Harry softly interrupted. "Neither of us meant to. And it's okay. Remember what we were just talking about? It's not your fault. Not everything is your fault. Some things just happen. Some things are _nobody's_ fault." He let his words sink in. "And I'll be George can fix it. I wouldn't let Mr. Weasley near it with a ten foot pole, but George can fix anything. You can write him a letter tomorrow, if you want, and deliver it, asking him."

Severus stepped out of Harry's arms, and looked at him cryptically. "You aren't angry?"

Harry shook his head. He tried to keep his posture relaxed, his face as honest as possible. He had nothing to hide, and wanted to make that overtly obvious to Severus, who could read into things a little bit too much sometimes. "Accidents happen."

Severus took in a shaky breath. "Per-Perhaps it isn't broken. Perhaps if we just turn the knob 'off', and then back 'on', it will work."

That was actually a possibility Harry hadn't thought of. He remembered sometimes the telly wouldn't work at the Dursleys and that Dudley fixed it by turning it off and on again, but that had never pertained to Harry's logic. But on the other hand, Harry's magic had never pertained to theirs.

Perhaps some Non-Magical/Wizarding unity was in order.

"Perhaps." Harry took Severus' clammy hand into his own. "Why don't you go upstairs and get ready for bed? Find Gik. I'll be up in a minute."

Severus hesitated. "No bath?"

Putting Severus through dancing with him was torture enough for one evening. "Not tonight."

* * *

"Harry! Wait up!"

Harry turned around, searching through the throngs of people entering and exiting the Ministry for their lunch break. He had planned to use his forty-five minute break to get Severus and Apparate to a sandwich shop, just to get Severus out of the house. But if he didn't hurry, he wouldn't have enough time to make it worth it.

"Harry," the redhead finally caught up with him. Her dark ginger hair was falling loose from its up-do, strands curling damp around her freckled face. "They arrested him."

"Who?" Harry got in line for the Floo - you couldn't Disapparate directly inside the Ministry. He tried to take Ginny's leather satchel, but she held it from his reach with white knuckles.

"Lucius Malfoy!" Ginny said. "This morning, they took all the Malfoys into custody."

Finally. It was hard to prove someone had been Imperious-ed, but once they had, it was doubly hard to prove otherwise. It had taken weeks of trial to get to this point. "So he's – Lucius – he's in Azkaban?"

"No; they've only decided he hadn't been Imperious-ed during the Second War. They still have to prove it about the First War - which is when he obtained the Dark Mark." Ginny continued on ranting about political things Harry hardly understood.

Harry was three away from his turn in line. "Well, I'm really happy for you. Thanks for coming to tell me. What? Aren't you happy?"

Ginny bit her lip. "Not as happy as I thought I'd feel. I mean, I've no sympathy for him, and I'm glad he may be going to prison... I just thought it'd feel _different_."

When the Death Eaters first began getting convicted of their crimes, Harry had felt the same way. Not vindicated or even satisfied; he had been numb to the whole process. "We're all proud of you." He reached to squeeze her hand thoughtfully like he might Hermione, but considered their past and refrained. "Does- Does that mean that you and Weston are-"

Ginny's nostrils flared. "That is none of your business, Harry Potter!"

"It doesn't matter to me! I mean, it doesn't because he was the first bloke you went to after we broke up. But I don't like Severus being around him; it makes him uncomfortable. It makes _me_ uncomfortable. And obviously if he was willing to-"

Ginny glared at him, and cut in line to use the Floo before him. She disappeared in the green smoke.

Harry sighed, putting a few Knuts into the required slot, and stepping into the Floo himself. He always managed to sod things up. It was a miracle he was able to cross the streets himself, without getting hit by a bus.

**Coming Up Next In _Unwell_...**

**..._Chapter Seventy-Seven: Next Steps_**


	77. Next Steps

**Disclaimer**: _I do not own "Harry Potter" or any characters from it. I am making no money from the writing of this story_.

**Chapter Seventy-Seven**

_**"Next Steps"**_

"That is interesting; I'd have never guessed that potion does not taste the same as it smells. My parents always used to pull it out whenever one of my siblings had a cold. I was so glad that they couldn't use it on me." Mistress Brown smiled.

Severus looked down at his fingernails. He had run out of things to tell her, and they were only twelve minutes into their session.

"Have you thought much about brewing potions lately?" Mistress Brown asked. "You haven't brewed any since your punishment."

"My enslavement." He believed in calling a spade a spade, even if that meant correcting- _damn_. The burning began, and he didn't suppose he would be able to go out to the waiting room to ask Master for his touch.

"Yes." She acknowledged. "What do you feel when you think about brewing potions?"

Severus flexed his fingers. The faint scars were visible near the knuckles. "The first thing I think of is how easily I mightn't have fingers any longer, and how that would affect brewing potions; I am very fortunate to have them still."

"Optimism is good. I can't say that I often see that from you. Very good." Mistress Brown smiled smally, and wrote something down in her notebook. "But what do you feel when you think about it?"

"I cannot say that I feel much. That was such a dry point in my life, teaching that class. I've no desire to go back there." Granted, if Severus had been able to avoid all the pain and suffering he had gone through to stay a Potions Master, surely he would have.

"Do you think you could brew a potion now?" Mistress Brown asked him. "If I pulled Wormwood, spider venom, and flint powder out of my desk and asked you to brew a potion for me, could you?"

Severus eyed her desk carefully. It did not look like she could be housing an entire storeroom in such a small desk. It was not as if it could be equipped with wizardspace.

"It was a hypothetical question," she clarified. "I haven't got any potion ingredients onhand. And could you please try to remember what we said about looking at me when we talk?"

He did remember. A healthy person looked at another when they spoke to them, or even mantained eye contact. Severus could only look at his hands or the floor without stammering. He had been trained to never look in the eyes of someone Above him. He knew now that he could break that rule without breaking a law, and that it didn't have to cause him guilt or pain. That didn't, however, make it easily doable.

He tried to focus on the fishbowl behind Mistress Brown's head. "I would not be able to brew that potion for you, Mistress Brown; that combination of ingredients could cause a caustic and potentially lethal explosion."

She strained to keep a straight face. "I see. However, if they didn't-"

"-They do. They always do."

"-would you be able to brew me the potion. Would you be able to walk up to the cauldron and other tools, and be able to cut up the ingredients, measure them, and whatnot?"

It was painfully obvious the woman knew only just enough about the art to get her into trouble. "I imagine. I understand the theory, and am phsyically capable of doing so."

"You misunderstand. When I ask if you could, I know you can phsyically. But could you emotionally, mentally? Do you think you could take it back up without a nervous breakdown?"

He imagined his hand reached out, curling around the handle of the knife. He could see himself bringing the ingredient closer, and bring the blade of the knife down. But before he could slice, his hand began to shake wildly, rendering him unable to make a percise cut.

Severus brought his eyes back down to his lap. "Does my master wish for me to?"

"Now, you know I never divulge what your master and I talk about." She lightly said. "I don't tell him anything you say without your permission, and vice-versa."

Severus doubted how truthful she was about what she told Master. Not that it concerned him; he was an open book to the man.

"I could try." He exhaled deeply, trying to keep himself from shaking, as he had noticed he had started to do. Why did the idea of brewing a potion bother him? It shouldn't. It was actually a very calming activity. "If my master asked me to, of course I would try. I would do it, if he asked me."

She spent a few moments writing something down. "But if you hadn't been asked, and just had the oppertunity to do it for fun, you wouldn't?"

He could never recall brewing potions as 'fun', unless Lily were involved. "No."

"Your master expressed a concern to me that you don't do enough because you want to. And yes, he did consent to my sharing this data." She explained. "His exact words were that you 'don't have a life'. How do you feel about that?"

How was he supposed to feel about that. "My life belongs to my master. I haven't done something because I wanted to in many years. All of my motivation has been behind owners, behind the Dark Lord, behind Master Dumbledore." He rarely spoke of the latter man; it felt odd calling him 'master', though the elder had been in a variety of ways.

"There are times that I do things I'd like to do," Severus continued. "If I am home without Master, and wonder if I would like to read or stroke Gik, it is a choice I am free to make. Those moments used to make me anxious; now I either hardly notice they are there, or feel quite liberated. It is difficult to explain to someone who always has freedom of choice."

"There aren't any hobbies though that you would like to pick up? Friends you would like to reconnect with?" She pestered.

Mistress Hermione had tried to teach him how to knit many months ago, saying it was a relaxing hobby. All he could do was worry that whatever she was teaching him to make wasn't something his master could use, like a hat, scarf, or sock. The knitting lessons hadn't lasted long.

"It seems I've poor ability to make and maintain friends," Severus said dryly. "I once had a pet spider at the Monsters."

She leaned forward, obviously interested in this new developement of knowing Severus' psyche. "Oh? Tell me about it."

"The Monster smashed it."

It wasn't that Severus disliked Mistress Brown. Sure, he disliked everything she wanted him to talk about, he disliked how she wanted to discuss his feelings. He disliked how she wanted to discuss his past, but disliked moreso how she wanted to discuss his future. He disliked her nervous habit of picking at her stockings. However, as a person, he was sure she was wonderful; he liked her better when he wasn't confined to her office. It did not escape him that she was paid to care about him.

Still, Master paid for these expensive therapy sessions out of pocket. Britain's healthcare system that applied to everyone else didn't apply for slaves, just as it did not apply for dogs, Hippogriffs, or owls. Severus had to work to make his therapy a success, not only to help himself, but to make sure his master's money was not being wasted.

And it wasn't. When Severus applied himself, he could see marked differences in things. He did not always notice the little things himself, but when his master mentioned them, he found them to be true. He no longer shook like a leaf in the bath, and was even coherent enough in the water to bathe himself. He still loathed them, but no longer thought to evade one by hiding things, or distracting his master elsewhere. When Master got angry, he was able to realise that the anger was not directed at him, or if it was, that he would not be locked in the closet or deprived of his next meal.

Still, the changes that Mistress Brown asked him to make sometimes seemed enormous, impossible, and even made him ill to think about. The things she asked him to talk about were things that he had put in the back of his mind, and had intended to keep there. He knew she only made things difficult to make his life easier, but he didn't want his life to feel too easy; it was then that something always went wrong.

"That went by fast." Master remarked as they stepped out onto the pavement. He began swinging his hands in unison, chatting amiably. "They actually had some newer magazines in the waiting room to look at, ones that weren't about Muggle celebrities and nonsense."

Master only liked the gardening and health magazines, the ones that applied in the slightest to his life. He, like Severus, had little use for the celebrities of Muggle technology. "I noticed."

Master stopped at a fish-and-chips cart, and began a transaction with the foreign man who owned it. "It went well, don't you think?" He asked, passing Severus' cardboard basket of fish, chips, and vinegar to him.

Severus waited for his master to begin walking to respond. "If it went well for you, I am happy." They spent two hours at Mistress Brown's a week - one session for Master, and one for Severus. It was clear that Master's sessions were helping him. The circles under his eyes were not so obvious since he had tucked his terrible memories away in a vial, and actually getting sleep. He seemed calmer, and got noticeably fewer headaches. He seemed happier, all around.

"What happened in yours?" Master asked as they walked around a large crowd of tourists dressed in Union Jack clothing. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

Severus looked down at the chips, and forced one into his mouth. The salty flavour filled his mouth; his stomach convulsed as a reaction. He felt his gag reflexes coming into play, trying to keep him from swallowing it, but he was well trained at ignoring them, and swallowed the chip whole.

He coughed. "She asked me to do something each day that frightens me. Nothing of great significance, and it can be the same thing each day, but one thing nevertheless." He held up another chip. "I began eating my food before you did; that is not illegal, nor have you asked me to refrain from doing so. I'm not comfortable with it, however."

Master just nodded, not saying anything for a few moments. "That's good. I can see where that will help you. Just don't do anything stupid, all right? Like, I know jumping off the roof in your human form might scare you, but don't do it."

"I'm hardly suicidal." Severus didn't appreciate the implication, but didn't say anything; his master was just using an example. Surely he knew Severus would never take his life; it was not his to take. "I intend on making minor decisions without your consult, or perhaps taking a shower."

"Okay. We talked a lot about the trial, you know. The Malfoys, and how much I adore them." Master tossed a burnt chip into a nearby rubbish bin. "She doesn't get why it's important for me to have Lucius punished. She thinks I am bitter, and angry."

That sounded like a fair assessment. After all Master Malfoy did, Master had every right to be bitter and angry. "I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing. It is not as if you want him to suffer a cruel, unusual punishment; you want him to atone for his crimes, even if the Wizengamot thinks that he can atone for it through something as simple as community service."

"Exactly." Master deeply exhaled. He glanced sideways at Severus. "So what do you think? Do you think he should be punished? What do you really think, not just what you think I want you to say."

Severus had mulled over that topic quite a bit in the last few weeks. "I think he should be punished. People who committed far less heinous crimes are punished for what they do. His sentence, I do not enjoy thinking about. It will be slavery or Azkaban. I hope Azkaban."

Master stopped, and not to throw his rubbish away. "You disagree with the slavery punishment."

Severus continued walking, and waited for his master to catch up to speak, "I am not going to speak on whether I deserved it or not on a personal level - unless you ask me to - because that is a different matter. However, what I went through was painful, sadistic, and mind-altering. I'm not sure anyone has the right to hand that out as punishment." Speaking against slavery made his forehead burn, but he gritted his teeth and continued. "Master Malfoy being broken is quite different than many Death Eaters who became slaves. He is regal, and used to being pampered. To see him grovel I think might be painful for even Mistress Ginny."

"I think she's already surprised by feelings of compassion. But they won't last long, I'm afraid. There aren't a ton of witnesses left to indict Malfoy." Master frowned. "Most of them are dead, in Azkaban, or slaves."

Severus made a point not to wonder what had happened to the other Death Eaters made as slaves. He had a feeling they were not as lucky as he had been.

"Shouldn't Mistress Ginny and yourself make excellent witnesses?" Severus tried to help. "And I was an insider to so much - if what I recall is true, a slave administered with Veritaserum is permitted to be called to the stand." He had witnessed Master Malfoy killing, torturing, sodomizing, burning, groveling at the Dark Lord's feet. He had heard Master Malfy brag on the diary ocassion that nearly killed students, on numerous occasions. He knew things that could almost guarantee his conviction.

"I know, but I'd never ask you to do that." They neared their Apparition point. "You aren't comfortable at a Weasley get-together - you'd never be comfortable talking about Voldemort to the Wizengamot."

It wasn't about being comfortable. It was about doing what was right. That was something Severus had not often chose to do in his past life, but he wanted to do it now. "It would help you, but more importantly, it would make sure Master Malfoy doesn't go free. I think I can handle being uncomfortable for an hour. We could consider it my brave thing for the day." He glanced sideways at his master. "You aren't going to let me do it."

Master sighed. "Well, I'm not going to stop you."

* * *

Harry frowned as he looked over the parchment. He felt like he spent every evening poring over a book, or working on writing something.

This was far more important than any report or dissertation, however. As an Auror, Harry's life would repeatedly be put into danger. The spells he dodged out on the practise field were harmless, but someday they would turn from Stupefy to blasts of green light. Was he taking this job as a reckless move? Absolutely not. He was skilled in Defense, and becoming better. Most Aurors lived full lives; Moody and Tonks had been the exception.

As a father, he had a certain responsibility towards Teddy. It wasn't enough to feed, clothe him, and love him; there were other things he needed to do. He had tried to create a will when he had first brought Teddy home a couple years ago, but when he found out that he would actually have to hire a solictor and go through a time-consuming legal procress, he had irresponsibly let the matter drop.

In case something happened to Harry, he needed to make sure Teddy was safe, and loved. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had stepped up and agreed to take in Teddy as their own if he were unfortunate enough to becoime orphaned twice. Harry had tried to reason with them - they hardly needed another child to raise - but they had admonnished him, telling him that it was what family did. Harry supposed they knew more about family than he did, and hadn't argued. They were young enough to see him through not only Teddy's childhood, but most of his life. They were stable, and Harry's idea of perfect parents. In a way, he was in no position to say 'no'.

Severus appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "You wished to see me, Master?"

Haarry quickly banished the legal papers to his desk upstars. He patted the sofa cushion next to him. "Yeah. Sit down."

Severus sat where directed. His thin, knobby legs stuck out awkwardly from his nightshirt. The large burned patch on his calf was starting to whiten, but the hair follicles there were permanently damaged.

He bit his lip. "Is there something I can do for you, Master?"

Harry looked up to meet Severus' eyes, and smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. "I wanted to talk about the offer you made this afternoon."

Severus visibly paled. He cleared his throat. "I-I made an off-offer, Master?"

"To testify. Lucius Malfoy's trial." Harry reminded him.

"Oh, yes." Severus relaxed. "Yes, yes, of course. I am sorry, Master. I had a moment upstairs, and when you asked me to come down, I could not shake the fear that you might ask me to-" Severus shook his head, and seemed to force a smile. "Forgive me, Master. I live in a state of unwarranted paranoia."

Harry gripped Severus' clammy hand. "It's warranted, but not from me."

Severus' hand stilled, tensed. Though once holding his hand could take away all Severus' troubles, it seemed those days were over.

Feeling something like a lout, Harry removed his hand from Severus', and tried to quell the awkward feeling he felt in the air. "The trial."

"Yes." Severus looked to be as relieved as Harry felt that the moment had passed. "Tell me what I must do."

"Just be sure that you want to do this." Harry said. "They will be coming down on you pretty hard, because you're my slave." _My slave_. Once the words seemed to hard to utter now flowed from his mouth almost as naturally as 'Master' did Severus'.

Severus nodded. "There is nothing they can ask I would be ashamed to admit in front of you, however-" he bit his lip. "I would be ashamed to admit it in front of all those people, not for any false sense of dignity I might posess, but for you."

This was coming from the man who only a year ago felt most comfortable eating from the floor. "Don't be embarassed for me. I'm not ashamed of any of the details of your personal life."

In a rare moment, Severus' eyes met Harry's without request. "You are not uncomfortable that I enabled many people to be killed through lethal potions? You are not uncomfortable that I once considered myself infatuated with your mother? These are things that under Veritiserum, are going to come up under questioning."

It didn't require a thorough internal examination for Harry to come up for the honest answers for those quations. "No. You brewed the potions, you didn't administer them. You have told me yourself that the only time you killed in cold blood was Dumbledore, and even that was under request. And as for my mother, it seemed really weird at first, but then I thought you died, and then Voldemort was dead. Things started moving really fast, and the next time I saw you, you were getting arrested ..." he faltered. "I suppose the next time I had a clear moment to think about it, it wasn't a shock anymore. I think I've grown up enough to see that my mother was a lovely woman, and that a lot of people probably loved her."

"They did," Severus spoke softly. "Though it does not show any redeeming qualities in myself, you might wish to note that how I felt about her quickly morphed from admiration to obsession, to making her mine over James Potter's. I did love her, but not how your father did. I did not love her enough to let her go."

Overanalysing things together was something Harry had done with Ron and Hermione over the years, and talking about Snape's affection for Harry's mum was no exception. Still, Harry nodded as if this information was new. "Don't worry about upsetting me at the trial, when you go. You're probably going to see me get angry, or upset, but it's not at you. It's going to be at other things, like how you are going to spoken to, or the people in the events you're recounting."

Severus pulled his hair out of his face, revealing that the mark on his forehead had gone from a faint white to an infected pink. "You might be angry now."

Alarm filled Harry, but he managed to not show it as he spoke. "What happened?"

"When you called me downstairs, I was reading. I was startled, and the accidental magic made the book catch on fire. The fire is out, but my covers may be scorched." Severus hung his head, but Harry could see the corners of his mouth twitching.

"May be?" Harry asked, smiling to show Severus he wasn't angry. He was just glad no one got hurt.

Severus nodded, finally relaxing once Harry put his palm to his head. "It is very likely."

**Coming Up Next in _Unwell_...**

**...Chapter Seventy-Eight: currently untitled**

A/N: _The below is not an attempt make me sound more credible, or excuse me in any sort of way._

_A lot of the hiatus has been a time-crunch. I pride myself in time management, and there simply has not been any time to write these past several months. If chosing between writing and sleeping, I chose sleep every time. A lot of it has been personal, however. I am just fine, and there have been no familial tragedies. I hold my readers very high in the people I care about, and I wish I had been able to send mass messages to those concerned about my health. I am very sorry. Please trust me in that I will finish "Unwell", and that we are actually nearing the end (relatively speaking)._

_Thank you all for checking the story regularly, and for the messages. Thank you all for your support, and your love. It means more than words can express._


	78. Live and Let Go

******Disclaimer: **_I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._

**Chapter Seventy-Eight  
"Live and Let Go"**

* * *

"Go on, try it." A small blue sweet laid in the palm of Master George's hand.

_You must listen to him; he is giving you an order._ "I try to avoid consuming things that colour." Part of him was inclined to slide from the sofa to the floor as he said those words, but he maintained his position.

Master George looked down at the sweet and frowned. "Yeah, maybe green would be a better colour."

Severus was saved from explaining to Master George why a different colour wouldn't change his stance on testing Weasley products, when the front door opened. He moved closer to the door, and was done on his knees before his master could shut the door behind him.

Master's hands stroked Severus' hair back subconsciously, all of his attention directed on Master George. "Teddy okay?"

"Believe it or not, Potter, your family doesn't fall apart because you decide to live it up on occasion." Master George slugged Master in the shoulder. "Did I miss out on something wild?"

"Luna sure knows how to throw a party. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, I think it's safe to say." Master knelt to Severus' height. "Everything go okay?"

Finally Severus could speak to his Master - it was very tiring, having to wait until addressed. Before Harry Potter owned him, not being addressed by his master for days at a time could be normal. Now, it could be frustrating to have to wait the three minutes for him to get settled upon returning home.

"It went well. However, next time please have Master George spare me from his test products. He seems to think that I, as someone who must speak truths to you, would be the perfect person to test his lying tablet on, just as you are arriving home."

"George!" Master barked a half-laugh.

Master George stuck out his tongue. "Snitch."

"Next time you want free labour, look somewhere else." Severus retorted. He paused, feeling a tingling near his hairline. "Please."

It was remarkable how tacking one word on the end of a sentence could change the mood in the room so drastically. Master George extended his hand, and firmly shook hands with Master. "Hate to run, but I've got to get to Ron's before he crashes. He'd be more fun to test these on, anyway - when you know if someone's lying, the opposite is the truth."

"Very deep. I'm sure no one could have figured that one out." Master's eyes were wide as he joked. "Has what time of night it was ever stopped you from Flooing to Ron's?"

"No, but that Auror training is getting to him. He nearly cursed my balls off last time." Master George waved to Severus. "Have a good night, both of you. Let's do this again sometime; it's so nice around here with Harry lurking around, don't you think, Severus?"

Severus found it to be in his best interest not to answer the question. The truth was was that though his master was only gone for slightly over five hours, Severus found himself missing him. That was not only pathetic, but a warning sign for he knew from experience such feelings would lead to him getting hurt.

Severus stood, following Master, who moved towards the kitchen to start a pot of decaffeinated tea. "Did you enjoy your evening, Master? You're smiling like the Cheshire cat."

"The what?" Master pored hot water from his wand into a tea kettle.

Clearly, Master had never indulged in classic British literature. "You seem to be in a good mood." Severus took two teacups from the cupboard, it crossing his mind that he should not just assume he was invited to have tea with his master. He ignored the thought, and placed the cups on the table.

"Maybe I just had a few drinks."

"You reek of Butterbeer. Unless you're part house-elf, it would have had to be several kegs." Severus waited to sit until his master did.

Master blew on his tea before taking a sip. "What makes you think I'm going to spill to you?"

"You told me that you're making a conscious effort to hide nothing from me, as I hide nothing from you." Severus looked down at his tea, wondering if he was becoming cheeky. "It was only mild curiousity, Master. If you do not wish to tell me, then of course that is your right. Forgive me for-"

"Do you know of Carrie Hawkins?" Master asked.

Severus was an intelligent man, and was able to quickly connect the dots on this one. However, he feigned ignorance for his master's sake. "I might have read about her in the Prophet. Was she the one who published 'A Case for Unity'?"

"I didn't go to Luna's party tonight. I went to this Muggle/Wizard meeting thing. I was thinking if I made a few appearances there, I might have an excuse to get out of that ball. And I wanted to know if people were more accepting of Muggles." Master made a face. "Not much. Hey, do you think this tea is kind of weak?"

Keeping Master on topic was quite a chore. "My taste buds took a significant decline two years ago; it tastes fine to me. You met Mistress Hawkins. I imagine she was charming. Is she invited to the ball?"

"Yes!" Master busted out with the news he had been holding in it seemed since he arrived. He poured quite too much sugar into his mug.

"Excellent. And so you asked her to go with you."

"No!" Master said. "Well, yes, I did, but she said she was already bringing her partner. And when she first said that, I thought nothing of it because that's just a term like 'significant other', or 'lover'. Very non-specific, general ...what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Ambiguous." If Severus was to earn his keep by being a living dictionary, so be it.

"But as it turns out, her partner is actually a Muggle ice skater. Like, a big time Olympic ice skater. And a woman." Master poured himself another mug of tea.

"Indeed." Severus picked up the empty kettle, and brought it to the sink to wash.

Master turned to face him. "You're not surprised? You knew this already."

He didn't have the heart to break the truth to his master, but he hadn't taken Master George's sweet. "Yes. Does this mean you are convinced to be more open about such things?" Master claimed to be concerned about how the ban on homosexuals serving in the armed forces was only just lifted in the United Kingdom, and not wanting to seem to Purebloods that he had an agenda. Severus personally thought it had more to do with not being who the world thought him to be.

"Well, not really," Master admitted. "But if she can do it, why can't I? I mean, I killed Voldemort, yet I can't date who I want? That's fucked up."

Master would want to watch that mentality. Just because he was deemed a hero did not mean he could get away with anything without repercussions. "You are to free to be with who you please. And it is understandable that you might want more experience before making an announcement."

Master rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses, before looking critically at Severus. "You're okay with this, right?"

Though 'this' could have had many meanings - having tea, Master's orientation - it's meaning was clear to Severus. "I am not as fragile as you might be tempted to think, Master. I will not break every time the topic of sex is brought up."

Master slowly nodded. "Yeah, right; okay. It's just that, sometimes when I look at you, it's hard not to see the man that I brought into my home last year. And though you are the strongest person I've ever met, you've got to admit that you are a rather delicate flower."

Severus wouldn't admit no such thing, unless under order. Even then, he would not mean it. "This might come as a shock to you, but I am a man. A slave, but a man nonetheless. I have thoughts, and needs, no different than you do." Several years ago, Severus imagined it might have been awkward for them to have this conversation. Now, they spoke with an openness that few man could with one another.

Master hung his head, a chastised child. "I didn't mean to imply that you weren't-" his neck snapped up. "Wait a minute - _needs_?"

Severus had nothing but respect for his master. It would be true to say he worshipped him, and even without the enslavement, would give his life for him. That was not to say that he never found himself irritated by him. Extremely irritated. And at times, it was difficult not to snap at him. "Yes, Master. Needs."

"But- But, those kinds of needs?" Master wrinkled his face. "Oh, God, Severus. Of course you do. I guess I just kind of thought you ignored them, because of Mering, and Weston, and everything. I didn't give it a lot of thought, but ...I wouldn't have ever thought that you'd want to indulge."

That, Severus could give the man credit for. "I am hardly the type to indulge in anything pleasurable."

"You don't." Master reached for his tea cup, before realising it was empty. He poured hot water from his wand, and stuck a tea bag inside the cup. "You don't indulge. Not in that. You would ask me."

"Each time." Severus felt a twinge of pride for his master, a man who once never bothered to research anything. Master was more or less an expert in slavery, now. "I've no desire to wake you when you are getting precious sleep, nor is it appropriate to owl you while you are at work. I can manage very nicely on my own."

Master was looking down at his fingernails, picking at them. "I'm an idiot. An insensitive idiot."

"You are very busy, and this is not something that would have been your concern a year ago." To say Master was insensitive to the needs of Severus or Teddy was ridiculous on many levels. "I know that I can come to you if I decide, however now I am content with distractions until the urges subside."

As a teen, Severus had been like any other young man with sexual urges. It hadn't been until he joined the Order that he began denying himself such pleasure. It was a subconscious punishment on himself, something he refused to indulge in. He did not deserve to indulge. He went from one extreme to the other when Master Mering had taken possession of him. No longer was he celibate, but very sexually active, irregardless of choice. It had taken a time of recovery at Master's, but he now considered himself at an even balance. He hadn't yet done it, but if had permission from his master, he very well might have private moments in his room at night.

"I am afraid I might enjoy it," Severus admitted several moments later. "It seems wrong that I might, after Master Mering, Mistress Weston, and the Monster."

"And Master Weston." Master reminded Severus. The man did not think highly of Master Weston at all. "He was the worst. He tortured you, humiliated you. He's responsible for most of your mind-fuck, I think."

It was not as if Severus felt a fuzzy feeling inside whenever he thought of his former master, but whenever he looked backed, he remembered feeling cared about during a time he so desperately needed it. He knew now it hadn't been real, that he was just being used, but perception was everything. "Irregardless, one of the few rights I have is to enjoy consensual sex, even if it is a party of one."

"It is your right." Master nodded. "And if you want to talk to Doctor Brown about it-"

-Severus blanched.

"Severus!" Master was exasperated. "You have to talk to her about stuff to get them straightened out!"

Easy for him to say. "Do you talk to her about your sex life?"

"Well, no," Master admitted. "But that's different."

"How? Not to challenge you, Master."

Master grazed his hand across Severus' forehead. "It's different because I know you are far more comfortable discussing those things than I am. When some people are involved, you have no shame, except for when it comes to humiliating me. Which you know you won't do by talking to Doctor Brown."

That was not entirely true. Once upon a time it was, but things were different now. Severus was keen to protect the things that could be considered his. His body was not his in any way, and he could parade it without flinching. But his thoughts, his fears, his cares; there was a thin line on whether those were his or not. It was a grey area, because who could truly own a thought? He was happy to share those things with Master, but anyone else created another scenario entirely.

"This is something I would like to think you and I can resolve together." Severus said. "If you make me discuss it with her, I will, but I shan't think it would do much good if you make me."

Master was firm. "I think it would be better than ignoring the issue altogether. Talk to her."

_Talk to her._ 'And that's an order' hung in the air between them, the unspoken words that rang in his ears.

Severus was very still. "Talk to her? Although I do not want to."

"Yes."

Severus saw red. He wanted to refuse, yell at his master. He wanted to list out fifty reasons why not, kick and scream. But he was no longer two-years-old, and his master was a far cry from his mother.

Sullen, he felt himself begin to shut down. "Yes, Master. I will discuss it with her."

"Good. I'm not trying to be your dictator, but some things I know you won't do if I don't make you." Master put his hand on his, but Severus shuddered away.

Master sighed. "So this is how it is going to be."

Internally, Severus knew he was being ridiculous. He was owned by his master. Only months ago, he begged his master, cried at his feet, desperately needing an order. And now that he had one, he wished he didn't. "May I go upstairs?"

"Did George help you in the bath?"

"Yes, sir." Though Severus was fully competent bathing, those Above him were still afraid to let him alone. Privately, Severus was glad. Having someone there was a good precaution, in the way having someone's parents in the room kept the monsters coming out from the chest of drawers.

"Do you want me to tuck you in?"

Severus didn't answer. He liked his master to tuck the covers around him, to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, but to admit that now would bruise his ego. An ego he shouldn't have.

_But it is an ego Master himself worked to build!_ He argued with himself.

"All right," Master levitated their cups into the sink. "Go upstairs and get in bed. I'll be up in a few."

Why did it seem that whenever they got comfortable in the way things were, a change happened to upset their cart of apples? Why did Master insist on playing this endless game of tug-a-war, between human and slave, between free-will and lack thereof? Things would be so much easier if Severus had orders all the time, if he was to play the slave twenty-four hours a day. There would be no conflicts of interest where either was concerned.

It would be easier, but even in his pain, Severus was able to see clearly. Easier did not always equate happier. Master would rather Severus live a happy life over an easy one, and if Severus were honest with himself, if he weaned himself off the lying tablet that his subconscious seemed to manufacture, he could admit that he would rather have a happy life, too.

* * *

"Fatherhood suits you, Harry."

"Now, how am I supposed to respond to that?" Master complained. "Don't try to change the subject; how long have you been living together? I thought you were set against that. I thought you would have told me."

"I did. You just don't listen." Mistress Hermione smiled as Severus came into the room. "Hello, Severus; I was wondering when you would come inside." Her smile faltered, and she made a none too discreet motion over her forehead to signal to Master.

Severus pretended to not see the motion as he knelt at his master's feet for the required moments.

Master sighed. "Yeah, I know, Hermione. It's not going anywhere any time soon."

He could be that way. It didn't bother Severus. He had dealt with worse pain before. The pain that throbbed on his forehead as a result of his disobedience was not as severe as it- he shut his eyes tightly, trying to keep himself from groaning. How easy it would be to slide his Occlumency shields up, but he was not allowed to do it, and the repercussions would be terrible once he confessed to Master.

Y_ou always confess. You cannot disobey and manage that secret without the guilt eating you alive. That is pathetic. You used to micro-manage magical dictators, and now you tremble at the idea of eating the last biscuit._ Not any longer. He was determined with this one. He and Master were both stubborn, however Severus had the advantage of years of practise.

He tried to ignore the looming disadvantages looming over his head, such as being Master's slave, or the fact that his conscience was no longe in the habit of sliding to the back of his mind.

Master reached out as Severus lifted his head to brush the hair out of his face, but Severus shied away. If Master touched him too long, too lovingly, Severus might lean into that touch, craving comfort. All he had worked for over the past three days would have been a waste.

"I'm just going to look at it, Severus. "Master was exasperated. "Look, it's cracking. It's _seeping_."

"Looks like a bad case of eczema," Mistress Hermione observed, pulling an object out of Teddy's hands that he was obviously not to have.

It wasn't eczema. It could be healed in a moment by Master's touch, but it was a touch Master wouldn't give, and something Severus would not ask for.

_"Harry said that you had something you wanted to talk to me about." Mistress Brown had tugged at her stockings again._

_"Did he." Severus had said flatly._

_"Do you know what he might have been talking about?" she pressed._

_"You know. You spoke to him in private at length." Severus had resisted the urge to cross his arms, knowing body language was everything._

_"I want you to tell me."_

_"How much do you get paid to talk to me each week?"_

_"Now you are trying to distance me."  
_

Severus found himself rubbing at his forehead, but stopped himself before Master could get any satisfaction from watching him in pain. He stood, momentarily unsteady on his feet, and moved to retrieve what he had come into the kitchen for.

He knew he was being ridiculous, childish even. Master hadn't said that he absolutely must discuss all things related to Severus' sexual history. He had wanted Severus to broach the topic, because he felt that a key part of Severus was lost in it. The reality was that Master was right. Sometimes, Severus forgot why they were at odds over it.

_Because I am not ready. Just because he has the authority to order me about doesn't make it right. Master is not always right._ And as consequence, Severus could be some of the time. He did not want to delve into some things yet, and if he were not a slave, he would have that right. It was one of the few rights that seemed harmless to him to pretend he had.

He wouldn't back down. Master would eventually feel bad about the pain Severus was in, and take back the order. Severus could stand it until then.

* * *

Harry sat up fast in bed. The alarm on Severus' room was loud and distinct. Harry had finally begun to sleep better, and could fall into a very deep sleep were he not careful. The alarm on the room was important he not sleep through, just in case.

_He is just using the loo,_ Harry lied back down in bed to stare at the ceiling. In a few moments, he would hear the stairs creak, and then the toilet flush. He would lie awake until he heard the alarm sound again, signalling the man was back in his room.

Light poured in from the hall, as Severus stuck his head in the doorway. "Master?" The deep whisper was so quiet, it barely registered.

Harry sat up, shielding his eyes from the bright light. "Severus?"

Severus dropped to his knees on the floor, but before he had time to even touch his forehead to the floor, Harry called him up. "You can stand up, Severus. What's wrong? Are you okay?"

He shifted awkwardly, not speaking. Though Severus' silhouette was only visible due to the shadows, Harry didn't have to look to know that everything was not okay. The mark on Severus' head was starting to resemble an open infected wound instead of an elaborate and faded mark. Harry had almost caved after supper, but had promised himself to wait until morning.

Harry had never been at odds with Severus before. Not like this. They had had their moments for months, but they were quickly resolved. It was not unusual for Severus to hesitantly, almost fearfully yet, to say something like "I would prefer not to, Master". That had been wonderful, something to be encouraged, up to this point.

This was important.

Harry patted the empty part of the bed alongside him. "Come sit."

Obediently, Severus moved. He hesitated before perching awkwardly on the bed, back stiff against the headboard. His silence reminded Harry of the way he had acted when he had first come into Harry's home - the _déjà vu_ was not comforting.

"_Lumos_." Harry waved his hand so that the room was dimly lit. Not enough to hurt one's eyes, just enough to see the condition of Severus' forehead.

He didn't notice the forehead. Far more noticeable were the tears streaming from Severus' eyes, down his cheeks. His nose wasn't dry, a universal sign of authentic tears.

"Severus." Harry reached out and clasped the man's hands, which he didn't shudder away from for the first time in weeks. Severus crying was not an altogether unusual event, but it had to be something big for Severus to wake Harry up in the night. Something Severus had to consider life and death, before he would wake his Master.

Severus leaned down towards Harry, burying his head into his shoulder. It was when Harry put his hand comfortingly on the back of Severus' head that the tears turned into sobs.

"Ssh. It's okay. We'll work it out." Harry recited the generic phrases he always did, whether Teddy bumped his head or Severus came into his room crying.

They did not have the desired effect; Severus began to cry harder. "I-I-I-"

"I know." Severus had finally cracked. After three days of blatant refusal, of refusing to speak to Harry beyond necessity, he was finally giving in.

Realizing Severus wasn't going to be remotely coherent in his current state, Harry moved Severus off his shoulder. He placed his hand over Severus' forehead, and immediately felt the wet stickiness of the wound. But when he moved his hand away to examine it, there was nothing; Severus forehead had been restored to normal.

"I-I-I do not know w-why I was so determined." Severus wiped his nose on the handkerchief Harry provided, the sobs subsiding significantly. "Of course you were right. Of course I-I must sp-speak to Mistress Brown about Mast-Master Weston, and ...everything."

Why did Harry feel guilty? Severus needed to talk to Doctor Brown about it, and if he wasn't going to do it on his own, Harry would have to make him. It was no different than teaching Teddy to use the toilet.

"I'm not angry." Harry said. "I felt bad making you wait so long to make you feel better, but I didn't know what else to do. You need to talk to your doctor - that's _why_ she's your doctor."

"I w-will. I do. It is just-" Severus bit his lip, and looked down to his lap. "Nevermind."

Harry hated it when anyone said 'nevermind' mid-sentence, but especially so Severus. "Come on."

Severus sighed. "It is just, Master ...I know y-you mean well. I know you love me, and please believe me when I say that I will do whatever it takes to make sure it stays that way."

Noting distress in Severus' dark eyes, Harry tightened his grip on Severus' hand. "You don't have to do anything. I would still love you even if you did something really foul, like, say, murder someone." The words left Harry's mouth before he realized something important - Severus _had_ murdered people. Harry had seen him do it with his own eyes.

The words seemed to do their job, however, and Severus visibly relaxed, leaning into the headboard. "I know that in the past, your way of caring has been taking care of every single one of my needs. When I couldn't eat or use the toilet properly, you took care of me until I could."

That seemed so long ago. It was hard to believe Professor Snape, the man too afraid to eat with even his hands, and the man sitting next to him were one and the same.

"You've come a long ways since then. That's to your credit, not mine."

Severus shook his head, so that his hair fell around his face. "I am not fully competent in many ways, and I do not know if it is realistic that I ever will be. I am unable to make crucial decisions without your input, and have virtually no rights. Irregardless, I am an adult."

Severus was an adult. He was almost twice Harry's age, in fact. It didn't seem like it, though. Harry didn't look at Severus and think of him as old. Perhaps it was because they were so close, or maybe the age gap that had once seemed so large had become less significant as Harry grew in maturity.

"I need you if I am leaving the property, because a single instance might send me crumbling." Severus continued. "I need you to pay for therapy, because it does help, and I've no funds of my own - any money I will ever earn is yours. I know this, and I am grateful. That doesn't mean I am incapable of deciding what colour robes to wear, what water temperature is too hot, what to eat for supper, or-" he looked sideways at Harry - "-what I am ready to discuss with my doctor."

Harry's stomach plummeted. He found himself staring at Severus, not knowing what to say,

Severus squirmed under Harry's gaze. "Please don't look at me like that."

Harry shut his mouth, and tried to mask what he was feeling on his face. "Are you trying to tell me you don't need me anymore?"

Severus barked a laugh. "No! No, Master; I will always need you. Every day, for the rest of my life, I am going to need you for something, and that is a burden you can carry around on your hero-complexed shoulders as much as you wish."

An amused smile found its way to Harry's lips as he touched Severus' forehead, relieving him of the phsyical guilt his choice of words created. "Maybe I did go a little overboard. I did say she was _your_ doctor, after all."

Severus inclined his head. "And I will talk to her about my experiences, and what fears they create. I will. I just don't feel ready, not yet. It would mean so much to me if you respected that, and didn't make me divulge all at our next session."

Was this how parents felt when their kids finished school, went to university, or moved out? Harry was sure it must feel the way he was currently feeling. He felt like he might if he woke up tomorrow and discovered that Teddy wasn't toilet-training, but out with a girlfriend, or at Hogwarts. He didn't feel like he had lost Severus, or as if they were growing further apart. He didn't feel any less affection for the man, but watching him gain independence made him worry. It made him feel like he was losing something, and he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"Master," Severus' eyes levelled with Harry's. "I trust you. I trust that every move you make is for the benefit of your family, and I trust you mean it when you include me as such. I trust you, and I think now it is time for you to trust me, just a bit."

"That's not fair! I do trust you!" Harry argued.

"You do. Just not in the way I am asking you to." Severus was quiet. "I am begging for a little room to make mistakes, Master. You know that if I ever need anything, I will ask. And it is not as if I am going anywhere. My room is just down the hall."

What Severus was asking for was going to be difficult. He would crash and burn one hundred times over on his quest to maximize what freedom he had as a slave. However, as tough as it would be, Harry had a feeling it was going to be much harder for him.

Much harder.

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...****  
****...Chapter Seventy-Nine: **_**untitled**_

_**A/N: **Thank you all for everything! I am proud to announce that the chapter number has just surpassed that of "the Marriage Stone"._


	79. The Right To Know

******Disclaimer: **_I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._

**Chapter Seventy-Nine  
"The Right to Know"**

* * *

Severus let the door open, and watched Teddy run inside. He had expected to feel a great deal of pride at this point, but instead felt exhausted. The amount of worrying and tension that had gone into picking up Teddy from daycare by himself was unlike the level he had gotten used to feeling regularly.

He set Teddy at the table with crayons, so that he would know where he was. He then poured himself a cup of tea, before reaching for a pot. Master was not going to be home until late tonight, so he would be very hungry when he got home.

Several nights ago, Severus had asked Master for more independence. He had not asked for fewer orders, or to pretend he was not a slave; those things were never his right to ask. He needed those things for his health, because the moment he stopped would be the moment he would be sold to another owner, and need retrained.

Severus gripped the knife he was using. He would not be sold. He would not need retrained. There was nothing he feared more in the world than something happening to his master, or being retrained. To go back into that environment would mean never coming back out. He had made a semi-recovery against all odds, and it was only because of Occlumency that that had happened.

It was unlikely that would happen again.

A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts. He wiped his hand on a towel, and tried to remember that Master Malfoy was now incarcerated. It was not going to be a repeat of the last time he had answered the door without his master being home. And even if it was, he could handle it. He had grown from that point.

He picked up Gik - he didn't know why, it was not as if she could protect him from whoever stood behind the door - and pulled the door open. He sighed when relief when he saw red.

Mistress Ginny stood there with a tissue in hand. Her eyes were rimmed pink. "Oh ..." her voice trailed. "Isn't Harry home?"

Severus released his cat, and stood aside to welcome Mistress Ginny inside. "He is not, but you may come in. He will not be home until late. You may wait, however. Would you like to join us for supper?"

She shook her head. Her jaw tightened, and Severus could see tears threatening to spill. "N-No. That's okay. I'm-" she stopped.

Severus was not very adept with emotions. He barely understood his own. He doubted very much that he could help with a woman's without making it worse. "Come in."

Mistress Ginny wrapped her arms around herself, and stepped in. She looked at surprise at Teddy. "How did he get home?"

He could bother to reiterate the tale, but didn't. "I brought him. Would you like some tea?"

"Very much, thanks." She smiled smally.

Severus put one across the table from where his work was laid out. He sat down, and realising that his work could be of interest to her, decided to share it as a distraction. "I am working on making sure my facts are straight," he said. "I need to make sure that what I remember about Master Malfoy really happened, and was not just a nightmare."

"Lucius." She corrected, taking a sip of tea and making a face. "Use his first name, remember."

That was far easier said than done. There was such a faint line between calling some by their names, and using titles for everyone else. "What is the difference between calling him 'Lucius' and you by your first name?"

She pulled her hair back into a knot. "There is none. Call me 'Ginny'."

"I cannot."

"Why not? Calling Harry 'Master' is the law, and I get that. But me?" She motioned towards Teddy, who was starting to lose interest in drawing. "You call Teddy by his name."

That was different, and he told her so.

"It's not different. Harry has made it clear that he is the only one to give you orders. Not Teddy, not Ron, not me, nobody. Not even George." She was looking like she had been completely distracted from her anguish, and that would have made Severus far more comfortable had he not served as the distraction by being interrogated.

"Not _even_ George?" He intoned.

She flushed. "You don't- er, never mind. Call me 'Ginny'. And call Lucius 'Lucius'. I understand that you aren't comfortable with that, but you aren't breaking any rules by doing it. Just practice with me, in private. You can tack on a title in public."

He was not that easily sidetracked. "What do I not know about Master George?"

"If I could tell you, I would." Ginny said. "Ask your Master."

"I will." Severus stood. "I will also ask him about titles. I imagine he will tell me to do whatever I feel comfortable with. I feel comfortable calling you 'Mistress'."

He didn't like having secrets kept from him. Once, he might have preferred it, not having the burden of knowing everything about anyone. But things were different now, as demonstrated over the past week. If it concerned him, even in the slightest, he wanted to know. He would almost go as far as to say he had a right to know, but that was not true.

He had no rights.

* * *

Harry turned around upon Severus' request. "Well? Tell me I don't look like a poofer."

Severus was kneeling on the floor, a measuring tape in hand. He was chewing on his lip. "You look wonderful, Master, though I am not sure the length is right. It may need to be a bit longer. Take them off - I will fly them to London tomorrow, and see that they fit properly."

He tried to hide his concern at that statement, but found it too difficult. "No worry. I can do it tomorrow during my lunch break."

"You've enough to do during your lunch break, Master. I will do it."

"I've got it," Harry insisted.

Severus stood to his feet, bones cracking. He walked up close to Harry, so that they were inches apart. So that their height difference became significantly noticeable. "I. Have. Got. It." He said, slowly.

Harry stared into those dark eyes, challenging them, daring them to look away. They returned the gaze, as fiercely stubborn as he was.

Finally, Severus broke away, rubbing at his forehead. "Master, it is not as if I am going to be wandering about the city. I know that doing that is a bad idea, and I am no longer one to take risks. I will fly directly to the shop, and directly back."

"This is different than picking up Teddy." Harry took off the robes, and folded them. He put them on the sofa.

Severus unfolded the robes, and refolded them in a tidier way. "It is. This is far less of a responsibility."

"Can't we just extend the length a bit ourselves?" Harry said, hoping to resolve the conflict. "I know some stretching spells; no one will be able to tell."

Severus shook his head. "It is not the thing to do, Master. That works for, say, a child's trousers. Not for expensive dress robes. I do not want you humiliated. I can take care of it."

"If you're so desperate to help me, clean the tub or something," Harry said. "At least have someone go with you, if you are so determined to go. George can leave the shop in the hands of his employees for an hour."

Severus looked down at his feet, giving Harry the feeling he had said something wrong.

He sighed. "I didn't mean to imply the tub wasn't clean, Severus, or that you have to do it when it's not. It was just ...an example. It's not that I don't think you can- ah, fuck." He put his hand to Severus' forehead.

Severus shied away from the hand, but didn't resist. He squirmed, with disgust and pleasure, before pushing his head against the head, curving his neck for the most access.

Harry stuck the hand back in his pocket. He hadn't meant to keep the hold that long.

Severus' cheeks coloured slightly. "It-It was not th-the tub. Might I- might I go upstairs, Master?"

Typically, Severus did not back down from an argument this easily. Usually, he would push the issue until Harry forgot why he had said 'no' in the first place. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I try not to hold too long, but I guess-"

"-it was not that, Master. I am not ashamed of, ah-" he stopped, then coughed. "Please, a moment?"

Puzzled, Harry nodded.

He had never seen Severus move as quickly as he had to go upstairs.

Sighing, he moved to the sofa. He had had a long day at work. There had been a paralyzing moment when one of the instructors had sent a bright green spell at him, and he had panicked, sending Expelliarmus almost instinctively. It hadn't, of course, been the Killing Curse, but he was pretty sure that instructor was going to be at the hospital for the next couple days.

It wasn't Harry's fault; they did always warn them to never predict the response of their opponent. His instructor should have practised what he preached.

Earlier in the evening, Ginny had been over. She had come over to vent to Harry about her break-up with Nathan Weston. Apparently she had found herself attached. Apparently she felt pathetic. Apparently she felt no better than a Malfoy, using someone to gain revenge.

Why she had come to Harry instead of a follow woman, Harry had not a clue. He wasn't good at offering comfort, and as one who had once dated her, wasn't an ideal person to vent to. Especially considering that he had never approved of the relationship to begin with.

His tea was now cold, but he decided against re-warming it. He needed to go upstairs and investigate how Severus was, and then go to bed. Now that he had put some memories into a vial, he slept so much more soundly at night. If he could say the same for Severus, he wouldn't wake up at all during the night. It wasn't Severus' fault that he had nightmares, or that Harry chose to eavesdrop on what happened in that room.

Guilt plagued him. Was it time to stop that? It felt right to keep the spells up, to his overprotective nature, but felt wrong, when he tried to think of it unbiased. He knew what Doctor Brown and Hermione would say, but he was not ready to cut the apron strings entirely.

Not yet.

* * *

An erection.

Severus had had an erection.

Erections were very common for Severus, as they were for all healthy men. He had them when he woke up, sometimes while lying in bed, and at any hour in between. They happened, as they had for the past thirty years, and he dealt with them. He could not deal with them with the way most men did - masturbation was strictly wrong to engage in without asking your master first. Sperm was valuable, to many owners. Most owners wanted to know where it was being put. Most owners wanted to know when their slaves had pleasure, and used it as a way to punish or reward.

Master might cough awkwardly and say "of course" were Severus to ask. Severus had turned the idea over in his mind several times, but hadn't done it. He made excuses of why not to, and that he didn't understand. He was not afraid of what the answer would be, and he was not shy about speaking about his body to Master.

This was different, though. This was something that if he asked for, and got permission to do, he would have no reason to deny himself. And maybe that was what he needed - a reason not to do it. He knew his whole world would not come crashing around him if he enjoyed the experience, but he was not certain he wouldn't be plagued by guilt. Feel dirty. Find himself thinking of a former owner in the act, and find himself a sick mess. He remembered being at the Muggle physician's office trying to relieve himself a year ago, and how it had not been pleasurable, how it had physically _hurt_.

It was easier - safer - to not engage.

Master stuck his head in the cracked door. "Hey."

Severus lifted his head so that he was no longer face-down on the pillow. He had to get up to greet his master, but didn't particularly want to. Despite the feeling, he slid to the floor and knelt.

He had escaped to his room without his Master noticing his erection. He had thought he was in the clear.

Master helped Severus off the floor, and back on the bed. "I overreacted. I'm sorry. Yeah, you can take the dress robes to the tailor tomorrow. As long as you don't make any stops, 'cept to rest in a tree or something. I don't want anything ...bad to happen to you. I love you."

Severus nodded, glad his erection had subsided. He did not want to explain the source of it to his master, who was certain to make it into something it was not.

"Why did you run up here in a hurry?" Master wanted to know.

_Damn_.

"I do not want to tell you." Severus admitted. "You are going to think it is something it's not."

Master crossed his fingers in a Muggle gesture. "I won't freak out."

Severus lifted his chin, and looked his master in the eye. "I became aroused."

Green eyes widened behind round lenses. "Oh."

"It was not you." Severus quickly explained. "It was the sensation. I am no longer used to feeling that for an extended period, and I still associate it with, well."

To Severus' surprise, Master just nodded. "I understand. Are you, er, taken care of?" He pointedly kept his eyes on Severus' face.

He nodded. "I thought you might get the wrong idea if you saw. I also wanted to avoid the question you were bound to ask."

"If you wanted some 'private time'."

Severus nodded. 'Private time' had become their code for sexual fulfillment.

Master rubbed at his scar. "I think I know what you're going to say to this, but I have a proposition for you."

Hairs stood up at the nape of Severus' neck. "I am listening," he spoke tersely.

"I know that you would have a hard time finding a woman to be with. I did some research. Another slave would come with strings involving breeding, and she wouldn't necessarily want to be with you. A woman of higher status, someone who wasn't a slave, would not last long. She would have to be special to deal with all she would have to."

Master had given the matter more thought than Severus had.

"But I could always hire someone." Master dropped his hand to his lap. "I know that's not ideal, and you might be a little embarrassed to ask, but you don't have to be. I could take Teddy and go stay in a motel for the night, and you could have the place all to yourself. It can be discreet. No one has to know. I just think, if I were in your shoes, it would be tough to just ask me, so I thought I would make it easier, and bring the offer to you. You know-"

"-Master." Severus interrupted. Interrupting brought prickling to his forehead that he chose to ignore. "Please, just stop."

"Shit, am I embarrassing you?"

Severus tucked his lips in, to try to hide his smile. "I think you were embarrassing yourself."

"I am not going to ask you to hire a prostitute on my behalf." Severus continued. "I do not want that. Don't protest," he held his hand up. "It is not a matter of money, or the questionable morality."

"Permission to speak?" Master tucked his feet up on the bed with him, up to his chest. "It does not surprise me at all that it has nothing to do with the morality of it, coming from you. There's the Severus Snape I know and love."

"It is to do with the fact that I am hardly ready for something like that." Severus said. "I have not yet come to you for permission to masturbate. The time may never come for me to ask you for something more. I realise that might be hard for you to understand, but it is a comfortable existence for me. I have an unusual history in this regard, and to push a change might come to a bad end."

Master nodded. "There is no need to take on something you can't handle. But if there is anything I can do to help you handle it, let me know."

"I will." Severus promised. He moved to his dresser to pull out a nightshirt, hoping his master would not remind him to bathe. He didn't. "All I need is to be able to trust you."

"Don't you?" Master looked up.

He nodded. "Whole-heartedly." He pulled his robes off, and slipped the nightshirt over his head.

"That means a lot." Master said. "You don't trust many people. I guess that's another thing that would make a sexual relationship hard. You've got to trust them enough with it, to not take it to a level you're not ready for."

It was hard to imagine being ready for any level of sexual intimacy, however Severus didn't say that. He knew his master would suggest broaching the topic with Doctor Brown, and they had already went through that.

Severus got into bed, and tucked the covers around his waist. "Speaking of trust, there is something I would like to know."

"Anything." Master slid off the bed. He knelt on the floor, leaning on the mattress.

Severus chose his words carefully. "Today, Mistress Ginny mentioned something that may have concerned Master George and I. You mentioned him specifically, as well."

He could feel Master tense. "Anything but that, I meant."

Anger rose in Severus, but he forced himself to hide it. Instead, his frustration came out rather like whining. "Why not? You said that you were going to treat me as much as an equal as possible, like an adult. Then you act like this."

"Don't call me a hypocrite. And you're the one whining." Master didn't sound cross, but he stood, apparently ready to make his exit. "You said you trusted me. Trust me on this one. It's not that I won't tell you. I'm just not ready, not yet."

"When will you be" Severus demanded. "If it concerns me, I would appreciate being extended the right to know."

Master nodded. "Let's make a list of your rights in this house. One of them is the right to know things concerning you, however, I retain the right to make exceptions."

That, Severus could live with. It was far more generous that any other master had given him, and he was a slave. He needed to stay in his place, regardless of how much freedom he was given. "I would still like to know."

Master laughed. "You will. It's not a big deal, though."

"Then why not tell me?" Severus lay down.

He kissed the top of his forehead, extinguishing all irritation. "I think you've got me there."

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...****  
****...Chapter Eighty: **_**The Truth and Nothing But  
**_


	80. The Truth and Nothing But

******Disclaimer: **_I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._

**Chapter Eighty  
"The Truth and Nothing But"**

* * *

"Severus, are you done up there?" Harry called up the stairs. He had gotten a leave of absence today, something that was only awarded very rarely. He had a legitimate excuse. "How's it going?"

Teddy had grown officially too big for his crib - he had crawled out of it last night, claiming that he wanted to sleep with Severus. One thing Severus deserved was a room to himself if he so wished - he didn't need a two-year-old roommate.

The crib was a hazard if he could climb out of it. Severus had volunteered to set up the toddler bed Harry had stored away, and Harry had readily agreed, looking for something to distract Severus for the morning. It was now ten o'clock, and Harry hadn't seen a sign of the man in two hours. Surely he had the task accomplished by now.

Severus appeared at the top of the stairs. "Yes, Master?"

Severus looked quite nice in the dress robes he wore. Harry was surprised to see that the man had even pulled his long black hair out of his face - he didn't do that for just anyone. Apparently he wanted to make a good impression on the Wizengamot.

"Are you done up there?" Harry wanted to know. "It's almost time to head for the Ministry, and I have something to give you before we leave."

Severus lingered on the top step, not answering the question. "Give me, sir?"

"Come to the kitchen." Harry turned back to the kitchen. He had planned this moment out for a couple of weeks, and hoped it went as planned. This morning, he had almost talked himself into waiting until after Severus testified, but after a stern talking-to with Hermione, had realised how important it was to do it beforehand. It could make all the difference, for better or for worse; Harry needed to take the risk that it could make it better.

He squirmed impatiently until Severus stepped into the kitchen. He watched him look around, a masked expression on his face, before sitting opposite Harry. "You wanted to see me?"

"You're acting far more formal than you usually do." Harry commented. "A little nervous?"

Severus did not break a smile. "Quite nervous, actually."

"Well, this might make it better." Harry began. "Severus, when you first came to live with me, I think I was more scared than you were. I wasn't sure how to be a father, or a master, or a friend to you. I wasn't sure how any of this was going to turn out. I didn't have a ton of hope that you would ever get to the point you have now - it's kind of a miracle you have."

Severus only inclined his head. He did not say anything about how Occlumency use was hardly a miracle, as Harry had expected.

"When you first lived here, I still thought of you as 'Snape'. You were little more than a skeleton, food made you throw up, you couldn't stand to touch water. Now, you're even wearing shoes." Harry noted with pride.

Severus, self-conscious, tucked his feet inside the long robes he wore. "I appreciate the sentiment, Master. It is thanks to your perseverance. No one else would have worked that hard."

That was a pity, because Severus was worth every moment. "Now, you're about to testify not because you think I want you to, but because you want to. That's a big deal. That's not Severus the Slave talking. That's Severus Snape, and that makes me, well, really happy."

Harry reached into the deep pockets of his robes, and pulled out a long thin box. "I've sat on this awhile, not sure what to do with it. I thought about keeping it as a spare for myself, or giving it to Teddy once he got older, knowing he would find it special. Hell, I thought about donating it to a museum, thinking they'd love to have it. I never thought you'd be ready for it." A year ago, Severus had actually approached Harry about being given the wand. At the time, Harry had lied through his teeth - he had never expected to be handing it over to him.

Severus stared at the box, not taking it, nor opening it. It took some urging from Harry for him to take it into his hands. "Are you sure, Master?" His voice was almost a whisper.

"Never more sure about anything. You're more than ready. I should have handed it over weeks ago. I didn't because I started to worry about you, and then put it off. But no more of that. We've talked about it, and you are a capable adult. You can handle it."

Severus ran his fingers over the lid of the box. "Am I permitted to use it?"

"Absolutely. You can't be non-chalant with it, though. Teddy is fascinated by them, and if someone smart enough got a hold of it, well, a lot of people would think of it as a souvenir, the wand that killed Albus Dumbledore." Harry chose to be frank. "Just don't use the Unforgiveables."

"Never." Severus promised. "I will never let it out of my sight again, lest I can help it. Might I open it?"

At Harry's consent, Severus opened the box. He stroked the wand carefully in the box, before lifting it out.

A loud pop!, complete with a smoke with a foul odour, resulted.

"Sorry, Master." Severus muttered his apologies. "Magic just builds up in the adult wizard, if not utilised. I suppose accidental magic will not be a problem any longer."

That was one perk Harry had been looking forward to! Especially since Severus had lit his bed on fire. "Which means no more sheet shopping for us."

* * *

Severus clenched his wand tightly, tears forming in his eyes. He didn't care if a passerby looked at him strangely for holding his wand to his chest like he did. He wished for time to just sit and hold it. He imagined he could sit like that for days on end, relishing in having it back.

Master had let him perform a few spells prior to leaving the house. He knew it was for practical purposes, to avoid accidental magic while under stress later in the day, but he didn't care the use. He had levitated dirty dishes into the sink, and started them to wash without any difficulty.

The high was something he knew would last for days.

"Severus." Master gripped Severus' sleeve, and started to pull him along faster. "If you don't hurry along, we're going to be late. Don't make me hold your hand."

It didn't bother Severus to hold his master's hand, but Master had shied away from it since he stopped burying his sexuality under the rug. Nevertheless, he quickened his strides to match his master's near frantic pace.

"Now, remember that I won't get angry at you, no matter what you say." Master said as they neared the courtroom. "And if you don't want to look at Lucius, don't. I'd kind of rather you not, just so he doesn't get the satisfaction."

If Severus had it his way, he would stare him down the entire time. He didn't think he would have the courage to, however, and being unallowed to his Occlumency shields would put him at risk for an attack.

Occlumency shields were to him what Dreamless Sleep was to his Master. Off-limits.

He was starting to feel nauseated as a man in deep blue robes approached him. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Potter, but we will need your wands."

_Wands_. Because Severus' wand was his Master's. Severus didn't mind - he was too ecstatic to be allowed to use it.

"No." Master tucked his wand deep in his pocket. "I won't be using mine, but I won't go without it. I don't go anywhere without it."

"Mr. Potter-" the guard tried again.

"No." Master's green eyes reflected a sternness, a determination, Severus rarely saw. "Let's not and say you did."

"We will need your slave's." The guard relented. "That is non-negotiable."

_No_. Severus began to feel himself panic. _This is mine. Mine to use. Mine to keep. I deserve it. I can keep it. I have nearly unlimited use of it._ It didn't occur to him that he was hyperventilating, until Master gently touched his arm.

He jumped at the unexpected touch, but magic did not seep out of his pores.

"Severus," Master spoke in a low voice. "They just want to hold onto it for awhile. Keep it safe."

"I can keep it safe." Severus spoke to the guard.

Master tried again. "Severus, you know it doesn't work that way. You need to relinquish your wand at the entrance. They keep the murders down that way."

Severus was a murderer. He was a reformed murderer, however, and was far more harmless than even Gik was. "I will not use it." He insisted. "Why don't you hold it for me, Master. They trust you."

"You trust me." Master said, glancing behind them - they were creating a queue. "You trust me, whole-heartedly, remember? I promise if you give them your wand, no harm will come to it."

Severus looked down at the wand, which he was gripping with white knuckles. "If I give him the wand, will you tell me about Master George?"

"What? I can't believe you- no, wait, I can. God, that Quaffle came out of nowhere. No, not yet." Master reached for the wand, and gently loosened Severus' fingers from around it. "Trust me, you'll get it back in a couple hours. Then we'll go for ice cream, and then to a park, where you can use it to your heart's content. You can fly, you can use the wand, whatever."

To be perfectly honest, Severus would be content to sit at home and just cradle the instrument. "All right."

Unexpectedly, Master reached for Severus' hand, gripping it tightly. "Okay, then. Here we go."

* * *

Morality. Wrong and right. Vengeance. Revenge. Those were the topics Severus wrestled with as he tossed in bed that night. Was he wrong to have given his testimony? Should he have given information that might encourage the same fate to Lucius Malfoy Severus had suffered? The weight of Severus' words could, in a very short time, put a man in the hands of Master Mering. Did anyone deserve that?

The tales of slaves Severus had met over his first several months as a slave stuck with him. He couldn't stop thinking about that long blonde hair, the face that concealed age; he was just sure that if the punishment of slavery was doled out for Lucius, he would end up at a brothel, or a breeder's.

He sat up quickly, feeling vomit rise in his throat. He swallowed hard, and tilted his head up. He took a deep breath, and the nausea passed.

Master Teddy had climbed into his bed at eleven-fifteen. Severus had taken him back to his bed, but he had come right back. Why he didn't want to sleep in Master's bed was beyond Severus; eventually, Severus had given in and let the blue-haired toddler take up a surprising majority of the mattress.

It was not as if Severus would be sleeping, anyway.

He had not let go of his wand since being given it that morning, except at the Ministry where they had demanded he relinquish it temporarily. He held it tight-fisted whether eating, sleeping, working; he had forewent a bath in favour of spells, much to his master's annoyance.

With it, he produced a small bulb of light from its tip. He looked down at his feet, feet that were so mangled and torn, nearly unrecognisable as human. It was incredible that he could walk on them. They hadn't hurt him unbearably in a long time; he could not remember when he last felt burning in them when trying to walk on carpet.

He stood, and paid attention to how they cramped. He had gotten used to that feeling, and hardly noticed it when he moved usually. Now, he paid attention to every cramp, every pain, every burn; this was what Lucius Malfoy could be reduced to, if he were lucky enough to keep his feet.

He crept down the short flight of carpeted stairs. He turned on the light, and stared at himself in the mirror.

His face had not changed significantly since he last looked at himself - really looked at himself - in the mirror. The lines in his face had deepened, while other new ones had formed. There were a few faint scars across his cheeks, on his nose where it appeared someone had tried to cut off the end of it - he didn't remember how it had happened, or by whom.

He parted his hair, so that he could see the mark on his head. A faint white, the curlicues resembled scars, not at all a tribute to a family crest. Before, he had wondered if Master was ashamed of him for not making a deep black, a bold colour, to announce to everyone that he was owned. Now, he understood why his master had been as discreet as he had, and for that he was grateful.

He turned on the tap, and after letting it run a moment, splashed some cool water on his face. He dabbed off the excess water, and looked back at his reflection in the mirror.

He did not feel any better. He did not feel at all cleansed from the guilt that weighed on him.

Resigned, Severus went back up to the first floor. He briefly considered going back to his room, or perhaps curling on a ball on Teddy's small bed. Both options depressed him, because he knew he would spend the next several hours of night awake, feeling no better than he did now.

He opted for the cracked door at the end of the hall.

"Master," Severus whispered, sticking his head in the door. He had to use his wand to make out his master, a lump on one side of the bed, buried by numerous covers. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on; they were pushed up against his face.

Severus whispered '_nox_', and got to his knees. He spent several moments kneeling in his master's presence, though what purpose it had when his master was unable to acknowledge it, he couldn't say. Then he scurried into the opposite side of the bed, because even knowing his master was asleep, being in the same room would perhaps be enough to calm him to sleep.

"Huh?" Master rolled over, his voice groggy. "Ted, go back to your bed. It's a big-boy bed, 'member?" Master had fought with Teddy for over an hour to get him to sleep in the new bed.

_And you undid all that work by letting him sleep in your bed_. For a moment, fear flickered through Severus, but he pushed it aside. It had been a long, emotional day for him, but that did not change Master. He wouldn't lash out.

Severus would be fine.

"Teddy is in my bed." He ended up muttering into a pillow.

That seemed to be the splash of cool water Master needed to wake him. He sat up, and shoved a _Lumos_ into Severus' face. "Severus, are you okay?"

Severus nodded. "Could you please-" he used his hand to move Master's wand out of his face.

"Sorry." Master put his wand away. "Are you okay? What's Teddy doing in your bed? Oh, you could have sent him to my room. I would have dealt with him."

Teddy wasn't a problem. Severus might have put more effort into putting him into his own bed had he not been otherwise preoccupied. "He just doesn't want to fall asleep alone."

It took Master a moment for the words to process in his half-awake state. "Oh. And neither do you."

Severus sighed. "I don't think sleep is going to happen to me tonight."

Master snorted. "So that means you don't think it should happen for me."

"I did not mean to wake you, Master!" Severus said. "I am sorry, Master; I only wanted to be in the same room with you."

"Why?" Master rolled to his back, and stared up at the ceiling with Severus.

Severus' logic was difficult to explain. "If I know you're here, I know everything is all right. The shadows in my room were starting to multiply, and my mind keept going places I didn't want it to."

He did not want to bring up the trial to his master. He didn't want him to think that he regretted going through with it, or that he had sympathy for Lucius. He didn't, not really.

"Are they going to find Lucius guilty?" Severus asked. He could feel a burden lift off of him, just by asking the question. That didn't stop the queasiness that had started back.

"Probably." Master said.

That Severus wanted. "What will the sentence be?"

"What happened to 'Master isn't always right'?" Master's hand started searching underneath the covers until it founds Severus', and it squeezed. "We don't choose the sentence, Severus. We aren't held responsible for the choices he made."

That had not been the answer Severus had wanted to hear. "Is that what you told yourself when you first found out about me?"

Master took his hand back. "No. It isn't. But you were different. I didn't like you, but I more or less had respect for what you did. I got to the point where I forgave you. And I never stopped trying to get you."

"You aren't saying Lucius deserves this." Severus didn't see the need to elaborate what 'this' was.

"No one deserves this, Severus. I try not to think about the sentencing, but I do. I hope for Azkaban. They don't Kiss too often anymore, but I am not actively against turning him into a shell of himself, if that means avoiding what you've gone through." Master paused. "I sound like you used to. Going for the lesser evil."

Severus buried himself into his master's shoulder. "If he is made a slave, is there any way we could keep tabs on him? Just so he doesn't go to the Monster. Maybe you could keep him from going to Master Mering."

Master wrapped a arm around Severus. "We can try, Severus, but it is hard. I don't think you realise how deep they bury the Death Eaters into the system. They don't intend for you to be able to track them."

"But you're Harry Potter."

Master tensed. "You hate me using that as an excuse."

That was true. He did. "Not when it works to my advantage. I just want to know that- I have known him for a long time. I wish I didn't care, and I don't even know why I do."

"You care because you're human." Master said. "Whether the law classifies you as one or not. I'll see what we can do."

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...****  
****...Chapter Eighty-One: _Old Habits Die Hard_**

**_A/N: _**_Thank you to everyone still reading at this point! Every story alert, favourite, or review, is so encouraging, especially because I never ask for them. You are all wonderful! A special shoutout to those reading in Czech - thank you._

_For those of you who have asked, there are less than twenty chapters left. I write several chapters ahead, so I can be certain of that number._


	81. Old Habits Die Hard

******Disclaimer: **_I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._

**Chapter Eighty-One  
"Old Habits Die Hard"**

* * *

"She thinks I'm screwed up, because I let you sleep in my bed." Master sat down on a park bench.

Severus knew the feeling. "She thinks I am because I even want to."

Master rubbed his temples. "That ball is next weekend. Can you please get sick or something, so I can stay home?"

He had not gotten sick in some time. He was due. "If I manage to get ill, a potion will stop the symptoms."

"Stop." Master groaned. "You were supposed to fake a seizure, not tell me about eradicating symptoms."

Severus looked down at the children near the edge of the pond. They were throwing bits of bread into the water, for the ducks to eat. Once, he might have wished to wade in the pond for some stale bread himself; whenever he started to think he was regressing, he had to remember something like that.

_Regressing_. That was a word he had overheard Doctor Brown say to Master during their session.

Regressing.

He wasn't regressing. He had his wand back. He had opted to go to his master rather than dwell on his problems alone. He had testified at the trial of someone he had idolised as a child. Those were big steps for him.

Regressing? She was the specialist. What did he know?

"Master?" Severus said. "Do you think I am regressing?"

"What?" Master pulled a few biscuits he had wrapped out of his jacket pocket, and handed one to Severus. "Where would you get an idea like that? No. No. You have grown a lot these past couple months. You've grown expo- expo- I can't say that word."

"Exponentially." Severus supplied, not correcting the use of the word as he might have liked to. "I have been thinking a lot about my life before you entered it. The second time, that is. The nightmares are still there, but I have noticed things I hadn't before that have changed."

"Such as?" Master tossed the plastic in a bin next to the park bench.

Severus indicated to the birds in the water. "I would have been jealous of their food once. Only months ago, I would have been wondering if there would be food in that bin I could stick in my pockets. And my feet," he jutted out a booted foot, "they do not hurt the way they used to. They still hurt, but it isn't in my head like it once was."

Master pulled Severus to his feet, as they headed to their Apparition point. "Why would you think you were regressing, then?"

Severus had the grace to blush. "You are going to be angry."

"Try me."

"I may have overheard Doctor Brown say something to you." Severus looked down at his feet in shame.

Master burst out, "What? She didn't say anything about- wait. Severus, didn't your mother ever teach you not to eavesdrop?"

His mother taught him that if you ran out of options, going to sleep was the best thing to do. She taught him resourcefulness; because she never had the ingredients or ambition to cook, he had to make do on his own. She hadn't seemed to have any qualms about fighting with her husband in front of him - one would have thought that if she had wanted to teach him something about eavesdropping, she would have chose those times as opportune moments.

"No. And I wasn't eavesdropping; I merely overheard."

"I should let you stew in your worries over regressing; it'd serve you right." Master scoffed. "She was telling me that if you were acting like you were regressing, you weren't, that your behaviours right now are spot on, and to keep doing what I'm doing. Well, except for a couple things."

Severus hadn't noticed he was acting like he had taken several steps back, but apparently they had, or they would not have discussed it. It was frustrating to not see the behaviours in yourself others could. Perhaps that was why the shelves containing self-improvement books in shops were so large.

"I suppose I should have asked you straightaway." Severus was sheepish.

"Or just not assumed the words 'Severus' and 'regressing' were about you." Master took Severus' hand as they prepared to Apparate. "Not every negative thing you hear me say is about you. I'm honest with you, all the time. If I thought there was a problem, I'd have said it long ago. You need to learn that if I'm angry, upset, or up all night, it probably isn't about you."

"It doesn't have to be for you to take it out on me," Severus pointed out. "Not that you would, however as reflex I assume you will. Regardless of how much I trust you, and know you won't."

Master sighed. "What am I going to do with you? You okay? Still feeling like you can watch Teddy tonight?"

Master was going to go out, as he made an effort to do every other weekend. Severus had talked him into letting him manage on his own; Master had consented with the promise to Firecall Master George should any problems arise.

"You aren't going to want to stay out too late; you want to get your beauty sleep for that dance." Severus jested.

Master began Apparating, making it clear that he was not going to go there.

* * *

Severus sat in his room, watching the bird fly around his room before it burst into flames.

Satisfied, he shut the journal, and tucked it into his bedside table. There was nothing like watching any of your concerns catching fire, and becoming ash.

After much prompting from many people, Severus had decided to begin journalling. He mainly wrote down things that had happened to him, things he had nightmares happened, and things he were afraid had happened to him, but wasn't sure. They did not stay in the journal, however; with so many people wanting him to write these things down, he got paranoid. He was not egotistical, and did not assume they wanted to read them. But those words being written down could come back to bite his master, Teddy, or himself if placed in the wrong hands - they were far better off being released in the atmosphere in the manner they were.

"Don't give me that look. It's not poetic, it's practical." Severus said when Gik gave him a look of disgust. He shot a spell from his spell that mimicked a ball of yarn, taunting the cat; she looked at it with boredom.

He sighed, placing his wand on the windowsill, and looking out over the property. A cool late September night, nearing midnight, it was exactly as it should be; quiet.

Nearing midnight. Severus was usually in bed by half past ten. He was tired, and wouldn't mind falling asleep, but could not do it unless Master was home. It sounded pathetic, childish even, but it was the way things were. Master had reversed their roles, and instead of Severus protecting Master as he always had, as a slave was to do, Master was his protector.

He felt fairly safe home without him, but not safe enough to sleep. Knowing he was sleeping down the hall was enough, but he wasn't; Severus had went down the hall to check only thirty minutes prior.

His door was pushed open by a pyjama-clad child, who took a running jump to Severus' bed.

Gik, startled, dashed from the room.

"Teddy, what are you doing awake?" Severus sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled the covers down from over the boy's head.

"I sleep with you."

A toothy grin was not enough to make Severus give in. "Your father wants you to sleep in your bed. We built it just for you."

Teddy's eyes became serious, his blue hair darkening to a navy. "No."

"Why not?" Severus was prepared to be given excuses of monsters, but apparently Teddy was not old enough to come up with those excuses.

"It's not time for night-night." Teddy said.

Severus would have to spend time with the boy, teaching him better logic, or at least how to create a better argument. He was starting to develop a deep-seated fear Teddy would end up in Hufflepuff.

He scooped up the child in his arms, ignoring the strain he felt in his back. That was something he would feel as long as he knelt at his master's feet. "Let's go sleep in your bed. It's better than mine."

"No Sev'rus'." Teddy began to pout, to whine.

"Ssh." Severus silenced the child. He heard a loud noise at the end of the hall. It came from Master's room, meaning it was either a burglar seeking a souvenir, or Master himself. Though Severus was oft paranoid, he betted on the latter.

He moved into Teddy's room, and placed the child in his bed. "Some parents would put warding on your bed, you know." He warned the child. "Stay here."

"No."

Being told 'no' by such a small person was infuriating, but Severus was not quite sure how to proceed. As much as he wanted to put a warding up around the bed, it was not his call. "Stay in bed, or I will tell Master."

"Daddy? Daddy, and Sev'rus, and Teddy."

Severus wasn't sure why Teddy liked to recite the names of everyone he knew, but he nodded. "Yes. Goodnight." He cast a spell to make interesting colours appear rotating on the ceiling, and after feeling sure that Teddy was potentially going to stay in his room, he headed down the hall to his master's room.

"Oh, God." A low voice came from the bedroom.

Severus froze. The hair stood on the nape of his neck. That was not his master's voice. He could pick out his master's voice in any circumstance, and follow it blindly; that was not it.

_He is having some 'private time'_, it occurred to Severus. _He brought someone home_. For some reason, this torqued Severus. It shouldn't have. Why should it bother him that his master had sex? He knew he did; Severus was very adept at telling when someone had. Many times Master had come home from a night out smelling not like himself, or with dried sweat on his body. Sometimes his clothes were far more rumpled than they should be, sometimes his eyes just had an extra twinkle in them. Usually on those nights, Master acted a bit tired, but seemed to run off of something other than natural energy. Adrenaline.

That had been all right. Never before had Master brought one of those men home, though. That was different. Very different. And Severus didn't like it.

Part of him wanted to investigate. Maybe his exhausted mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe Severus was wrong.

_You're not wrong. It doesn't matter. Go to bed. He's home, and that's what matters._

What kind of men did Master like? Who had he brought home?

_That is none of your business. You can trust him enough to be sure that the man will not sneak into your room after. Go to sleep._

But it was his business. It was important to know what kind of men his master liked, because one day one of those men could be living in his house. One of those men could effectively become something of a second master, though of course Master would not want Severus to think of him as such.

Slytherins were known for being cunning, for being creative, for being clever. Those three skills combined created a very specific trait, that was not often realised by outsiders; Slytherins had a very keen sense of self-preservation. That came out in Severus, and no amount of pain on his forehead would make him turn back to his room now.

Creeping to Master's room, he noticed the door hadn't been shut completely. It never was - Master didn't believe in shutting doors between himself and Severus. Severus had never understood how beneficial that could be to him, until now.

_You haven't changed. Old habits die hard. You're still a spy, as you've always been_.

He couldn't see anything from the angle the door was. He would need to stick his head in fully to see what was going on. He didn't want to see what was going on - he just wanted to know who the man was.

Curiousity drove everything every person did. If he were caught, he could tell his master the truth, that his head had begun to hurt. Or that he just wanted to check and make sure his master was home.

If he were caught.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, he stuck his head through the crack in the door.

A wand laid on the dresser, a _Lumos_ still present. It lent a fair amount of light in the room, enough to see the two men in the bed. It didn't look like much had happened yet, but one was definitely Master; Severus could recognize the robes crumpled on the floor.

_It's Master_, a stern voice in his head scolded him. _Go to bed. You have the most important information._

Due to how the men were moving, covering each other desperately with kisses, it was hard to get a feel for who the man was. He wouldn't stay still long enough for Severus to even see what he looked like; it seemed he had an olive skin, and dark hair that fell in waves around his shoulders.

He didn't know why he checked, but he had to make sure there weren't any tattoos on his left arm.

"Severus!" Master sat up in bed, nearly knocking the other man off the bed. He grabbed the sheets, and pulled them up over his lap. "What are you doing awake?"

_Because I wanted to see you. Because I couldn't sleep until you were home. Because I couldn't sleep._ None of his answers seemed important enough to interrupt his master's private time, and the other ones he had invented vanished from his mind.

He chose to do the cowardly thing, but undoubtedly the safest; he turned and fled.

* * *

Harry wrapped a dressing gown around himself, and after assuring Javier he would be right back, hurried down the hall into Severus' room.

He had brought the man home on impulse. His plan had been to give Severus a warning were he still awake, but it had been quiet in Severus' room - he had thought he was asleep. He hadn't expected Severus to poke his head in at all.

_This is what Doctor Brown meant about not letting him sleep in your bed. The more you let him do it, the more he thinks he can. He can't just come in any time he wants - that's why we have separate rooms. Someday you will be in a long-term relationship, and the jealousy Severus will have will set us back five paces. _Severus had ended up sleeping in his room six out of seven nights of the week, and Harry hadn't protested. If it helped Severus, he would do anything, and he rather liked the man's company.

He hadn't had the foresight to realise that the odds were against tonight being the one night Severus slept in his room with the cat.

He opened the door Severus had slammed, and was not surprised to find Severus a shaking lump on the floor.

Trying to hide his irritation, he knelt down as well. "Hey, I didn't mean to scare you. I was just startled."

Severus didn't respond, which only increased how irate Harry was feeling.

"Look, you need to start knocking if I have the light on. Or I need to start shutting the door when you're not allowed in." Harry said. "I don't care if you come to see me, want to ask me something, or even want company while you sleep, but we have to set up boundaries. Remember those rights of yours we made a list of the other day? Well, I have them too."

Severus moved to his knees, bowing to Harry like he hadn't when Harry had come in. He didn't say anything for a moment, until he half-sobbed "don't be angry."

Part of Harry's heart broke. The other half prompted him to demonstrate some tough love. "Look," he said, "did you need something? Was that why you came to see me?"

Severus shook his head, but stopped, and then nodded.

"What, then?" A thought struck him. "Did _you_ need some private time?"

"No." Severus' voice was hoarse as the sobs subsided, though the shaking continued. "I-I wanted to see."

_See? He wanted to see?_ Harry didn't know whether to feel disgusted, creeped out, flattered, or confused. "What did you want to see?"

He helped Severus from the floor, and back into the bed. "What did you want to see?" He asked again.

Severus sniffed, and wouldn't look at him. "You."

"And?"

"The man you were with."

Harry choked. "Severus, that's ...well, that's none of your business. He's just a bloke I know. That's all you need to know."

Severus looked at him, his red-rimmed dark eyes filled with concern. "He is not going to be living here?"

Severus moved slow with most things; Harry moved even slower. "No. Not anytime soon, anyway. And I would ask you if the idea struck me. I would have you meet him." He made a Muggle gesture. "Promise. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

Severus made a face. "Please don't mean that. And now I'm going to be dreaming of needles."

He had nightmares regardless of whether Harry spoke of morbid things or not. "Well then, at least you know it didn't really happen, then. You will know it came from me."

He leaned over the bed, and kissed Severus' forehead. "Go to sleep. I'll come in and check on you after awhile. If you're still awake, we'll go downstairs and talk, okay?"

He left, feeling vaguely irritated at himself for giving into Severus so easily, and hurried back into the bedroom.

Javier was pulling his dragon hide boots over his stockinged feet.

"Shit. Don't worry about that. That was just- that was my friend, Severus. He is having a bad time of it, is all. It's nothing." Harry moved closer to Javier, putting his hands on his shoulders. "Now, where were we?"

Javier resisted a kiss. "Your friend, huh? Give me more credit than that, Harry." His smile was wistful as he did the lace on his boot.

"No. No, you have the wrong idea." Harry tried to explain. "Severus is ...well, he's my slave. He lives with me, and he can be really possessive, I'm coming to learn. He isn't used to the idea that I have other people in my life besides than the ones he knows."

Javier stood, and began pulling on his shirt. "I saw the way you looked at him."

"What? Like I was caught in headlights?" Harry asked. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting him to-"

Javier shook his head. "Not then. When you went into his room. I may have overheard some of your conversation, and might have watched you for a minute."

Was Harry the only one in that house with a sense of propriety? He didn't go around eavesdropping - he had taken the charm off Severus' room a few weeks ago.

"The way you looked at him, spoke to him ...you say he's your friend. I think he is a lot more than that." Javier did up the buttons on his shirt by hand.

What was Javier implying? "No. That would be inappropriate. He has gone through a lot, and the last thing he needs is me taking advantage of him."

"He worships you." Javier observed. "Maybe it wouldn't be taking advantage."

This conversation was ending now. "Yes, it would be. And of course he worships me. I kiss him, instead of beating him with a chair. And on the forehead," he interjected, "not what you're thinking. I kiss him on the head."

This was not like the time the woman thought he was gay. Then, Harry had been denying the truth even to himself. This was different, because there was no denial here; Javier was wrong.

Javier picked up his wand. "I believe you believe what you're saying. And we can agree to disagree." He headed for the bedroom door, but then stopped, and gave Harry an appraising look. "Have you noticed the resemblance he bears to me?"

Harry hadn't felt more uncomfortable in his third-year, when six girls had found him showering in the locker room. "I don't appreciate being psycho-analysed. And he's not Spanish."

Javier chuckled. "Goodnight, Harry. I'll see you around sometime."

For months, Harry had been priding himself on how much sleep he was able to get. That night, he learned that pride always came before a fall; he didn't sleep a wink.

**Coming up next in **_**Unwell**_**...****  
****...Chapter Eighty-Two: _Seeing Red_**


	82. Bold

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own "Harry Potter", or the characters from it. I am making no money from this story._

**Chapter Eighty-Two**

**"Bold"**

* * *

The storeroom of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was a hazardous place. Severus wasn't sure who thought it would be a good idea to store explosives next to the wood stove.

"Are you almost finished?" Master George came up to the storeroom, beads of sweat on his face.

"Nearly." Severus pushed a box to the wall. His back protested, and his arms did even more. He had never been overtly muscular, but he had lost the strength he had possessed during the time before Master bought him. He was no longer accustomed to lifting and moving anything larger than Teddy.

That morning, Severus had Firecalled Master George, and volunteered to help around the shop. Master George had been very enthusiastic about the idea, and Master, he hadn't seemed to care.

He hadn't cared about much in the past couple of days.

"I've got pumpkin juice downstairs." Master George offered. "If you're thinking you want something a little stronger though, I wouldn't be opposed to walking across the street to that new pub that just opened."

He couldn't remember the last time he had consumed alcohol. He had once indulged regularly, as most adults did. Thinking about doing it now seemed to be a bad idea, however. The combined factors of his state of mind, and his family history, it seemed better to not make drinking a habit.

Actually, he wasn't sure if he was allowed to drink without asking his master first. Now was not the time to ask.

"Pumpkin juice sounds wonderful." He summoned a large amounts of trial products from the floor to a box across the room. "May we drink it up here?"

Master George's forehead creased. "Sure. It's a bit hot up here; wouldn't you rather-"

"-No. I would not." Severus had not come to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for a change of pace in his mundane life, and the shop was hardly a place to have the serious conversation he wanted to have.

Master George summoned the frothy glasses of pumpkin juice, and passed on to Severus. "So, you want to take on a position here?"

"Pardon?"

"When you Firecalled, I thought that you might be interested in brewing potions for the business. I was surprised when you opted to work up here, actually." Master George wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

Severus didn't want to brew potions. He couldn't brew potions. He didn't like people to ask him why, because he wasn't sure what the answer was.

"I pay good," Master George added. "I'm not sure what you made at Hogwarts, but it might rival it. Well, except that I don't offer room and board."

His mind raced. "Is this the secret Master has been keeping concerning us? You wish for me to work with you?"

"Secret? We've mentioned it in passing ...Harry and I haven't had a conversation in over a month." Master George drained the orange-coloured juice out of his glass.

If they hadn't had a conversation in so many weeks, then what wasn't Master telling him? It was infuriating. "No, I am sorry, Master George; I did not Firecall you to ask for a position. I am not ready to brew potions right now. I may not be ever again. I am not sure that I would desire to."

"Master and I haven't had a discussion in nearly a fortnight." Severus commented as he resumed the cleaning of the storeroom. "It was getting too quiet around the house; I could hear myself thinking too clear. I needed somewhere to go, even if only for the day."

Master George stopped what he was doing, and turned around sharply. "You haven't spoken to Harry in two weeks?"

"More aptly, he hasn't spoken to me." Severus was hesitant to explain how he had intentionally walked in on Master and his lover. "I interrupted his private time, and humiliated him. He is still angry."

"You've done that before, and he's never gotten angry."

"Yes, but during those times it was not intentional." Severus hefted another box on another. "I am afraid it was this time."

Master George shook his head. "No, wait; that's not right. He's not angry with you. Harry doesn't stay angry that long. Ron does, yeah, but not Harry. In two days he forgets what he's angry about, and in five he forgets that he is supposed to be angry in the first place."

Severus leaned against a stack of boxes, feeling unable to exert more physical strength. "That is the only reason I can think for his ignoring me. I asked him if I might come here, and he said 'yes', though I am sure he hadn't actually heard the question."

"That's not like Harry. He values you and Teddy above all else. Nothing would make him treat you like that."

Severus hated to be called a liar. He levitated several boxes on top one another. "I am not prone to exaggeration."

Master George sent the brooms to work, sweeping up the caked dust on the wooden floor. "He'll come around. Just give him time. Hey, do you want to see this new trap I made? I saw these things called Chinese Handcuffs ..."

He disappeared down the narrow flight of stairs. Master George, like most men, was not accostumed to having deep conversations. And that was fine, for he had not the information Severus had wanted.

Severus turned to look out the dirty window. He hadn't wanted to explain to Master George why he had wanted to leave the house. He felt like he was complaining, almost snitching on his master. He had no rights to complain if he had made him angry; he knew what he was doing when he had lingered outside Master's door.

However, something was not right about this. Master was not typically so absent-minded, so unaware of his surroundings. He hadn't yelled or snapped at Severus; he just ignored him completely. Severus was at a loss of what to do about it, and had hoped some time in a new environ might give him some inspiration.

It hadn't.

* * *

Harry felt like an idiot. That wasn't an altogether unusual experience, for he often felt that. Usually he only seemed like an idiot in front of his small family, or friends, however. He wasn't prepared to feel like an idiot in front of Britain's most elite.

"You look wonderful." Severus handed him a comb. "Stop spinning, trying to look at your rear - the robes are supposed to look like that."

Harry knew nothing of style, but one thing he was sure of; dress robes had taken a severe decline since 1994. He couldn't go out like this. He could see the headlines made if someone snapped a photo and sold it to _the Prophet_; he shuddered.

"The woman said that this is the style of dress robes worn. I trust her with that information. She wouldn't lie, not when Harry Potter is her important clientele."

_Unless she was a Pureblood-supporter._ He looked in the bathroom mirror. It didn't matter how much he dampened his hair, and slicked it forward, because it didn't want to stay. "Well, Potter; this is as good as it's going to get."

Severus sat back on the toilet seat, compulsively chewing his lower lip. "Did you ever ask someone to go with you?"

Harry wiped a smudge off his glasses to see if it would make him look any less like a disaster. "No. Flying solo."

"That is all right. I am sure several people at the ball will be."

Harry didn't answer. He felt uncomfortable talking to Severus right now. Ever since that night he had brought someone home, it felt like a switch was turned inside him that he couldn't switch off. He began to notice things that prior to that night, he hadn't.

This wasn't like the day Marcia assumed he was gay; he had known he preferred men long before she had said anything and had denied it to himself. Were it not for Severus and Doctor Brown, he mightn't have become as open as he had, telling his closest friends and family.

This was different. Being accused of loving - desiring - Severus had disturbed him greatly. He hadn't ever thought of the man in that light before, and to even consider it was wrong. A sin. Severus had been through so much, and trusted Harry with everything.

He felt disgusting for even letting the idea cross his mind.

That night, it had occurred to him how wrong he had been. It was crossing a line now to kiss Severus on the head. It was crossing a line to let him, or ease him on his lap. It was crossing a line to be in the room whilst the man bathed or changed. It was a violation. Severus didn't feel he had a choice in these matters, and to seem like he was taking advantage of that was terrible.

He rarely had it occur to him how much control he really had. He didn't like to think about it, because it made him feel like he thought Voldemort might have. And if he thought about it, it would be admitting things. It would mean changing things that, on the surface, seemed to work so well.

Because they did. A kiss on Severus' forehead comforted him, even relaxed him. When Harry let Severus crawl into his bed, it was because he knew Severus liked being so close to Harry. He knew it made him feel safe. Harry had thought that if it took such a small thing to help someone who had suffered so much, it was the least he could do.

But it didn't really help him, not really.

Javier was wrong; Harry didn't sexually desire Severus. He had spent some time thinking about it - really evaluating what Javier said - and found the man wrong. He loved Severus, and had a more intimate relationship with him than he ever had with anyone else. He put Severus before any lover, before any significant other.

That didn't translate to wanting to have sex.

If it seemed like that to an outsider though, what did Severus think? Did he live in fear of not knowing Harry's intentions? Was he afraid every time he lay on his lap, Harry would open his trousers? Harry couldn't allow there to be a blurry line, couldn't allow them to be remotely near the line.

Only two weeks ago, he had been afraid to cut the apron strings, the ties of dependence. Now, Harry had tossed them into the rubbish bin, and was actively lighting them on fire.

Harry was jarred back to reality when Severus leaned forward to pull away Harry's robes, exposing his shorts.

On reflex, he pulled away. Panic filled him. What was he doing? Severus hadn't alluded to 'sexual favours' since Harry had first bought him. But what other reason was there to-

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He cried.

Severus' eyes portrayed no emotion. They were dark, unblinking, as he stared Harry down. Eye to eye.

Pulling that kind of move was the last thing Harry needed. If Severus was going to act like that, then they needed to make a change. A serious change. There was a difference between Severus' behaviour a year ago, and his behaviour now. He knew what was acceptable. He knew what was expected of him.

He was stubborn enough to, for whatever reason, ignore it all.

"What was that for?" Harry persisted, shoving Severus' shoulder to get his attention. "You don't just do that to someone! That's- That's battery! You can get in big trouble for that!"

Severus lifted his chin. "That was a risk I was prepared to take. I cannot help but be pleased with the outcome."

"The outcome of what?" Harry crossed his arms across his chest.

"You noticed me. This is the most you've spoken to me in two weeks."

He had spoken to plenty to Severus in the past couple weeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Severus rose, off the toilet seat, glowering. "Do not be an idiot. I've tried every other method I could think of to get your attention. I will not stoop to that level again. It is not worth it to me." He brushed past Harry; Harry could hear pounding on the stairs as Severus retreated to his room.

Harry leaned against the door frame. He hadn't been ignoring Severus. He had been, admittedly, avoiding the behaviours that could be interpreted as wrong, or grey. He had hardly been ignoring him, though; Severus didn't do anything that he didn't ask permission for, or that Harry didn't see out of the corner of his eye.

He shut off the light, and stalked over to the fireplace. "I'm leaving!" He hollered up the stairs. "Keep an eye on Teddy; don't forget he's your responsibility while I'm gone!"

Severus appeared at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were narrow as he glared at Harry. His forehead was inflamed, a deep pink, swollen.

Harry took a handful of Floo powder, and tossed it into the fireplace.

* * *

Harry threaded through the large crowds of people. It was worse than he imagined. He had expected to Floo in, walk into a room with perhaps one hundred people, take a sip of punch, and then leave.

Going to the pub afterwards for seven Firewhiskeys sounded ideal.

There were hundreds of people in the large room. Some were waltzing, while others were chatting around the edges of the room. Women wore big rings, and heavy makeup. The men looked more ridiculous than Harry did.

_Fake. It's all fake_. At the end of the night, most of the people in the room would go home, put on their pyjamas, and go to bed. The makeup and toupees would come off, and most would probably be glad they could stop making such forced smiles. It was disgusting.

_Leave. Just turn around and go home. Claim there is a family emergency_. There was a family emergency. Harry had apparently seemed to be walking around with his foot in his mouth for awhile. Severus had called him an idiot. An _idiot_. That was so unlike, and yet so like him.

"Harry," Kingsley reached out and shook Harry's hand firmly. "I am so glad you made it. I heard you have joined our fine Auror programme."

That was old news; Kingsley was just trying to make Harry look good in front of members of parliament. Kingsley had been the best thing to happen to the Ministry in awhile, but it had invoked a change in him Harry hated.

"Uh, yeah. Almost a year, now. Um, can you excuse me?" He ducked between Kingsley and a wig, and headed for the server.

Champagne. That was all the server had on the tray. The small glasses had barely enough to wet his throat, much less lift his inhibitions. "Don't you have anything stronger?"

"No, sir; non-magical people cannot tolerate the alcohol of those who are magical." The server lifted his head, caught sight of Harry's scar, before ducking his head again.

Harry caught sight of a scar, too. He reached out, and tapped the man's chin up, so that he could examine closer. Violating all personal space, he moved the man's fringe aside, revealing a rose coloured tattoo.

Harry felt his heart drop into his stomach, and his blood pressure rise. "Why are you here?"

"I am a half-blood, sir."

He didn't care if he was a half duck-billed platypus. "Why do they have slaves serving the munchies?"

"_Hors d'oeuvres_, sir, and I cannot answer that question. Please excuse me," he moved to offer more people drinks.

That was how the Ministry was choosing to represent the magical community. Instead of hiring a Muggle catering company, or having Wizards take the position of servers to show that they were equals, they brought in slaves. Slaves, the biggest flaw in the Wizarding society, and the Ministry for Magic was choosing to flaunt it.

Any anger he felt at Severus dissolved. He no longer saw silk gowns and men with pointed hats. The large gold room was replaced by a hotel room, and the person nearest to him was replaced by a quivering man in naught but a burlap strip of cloth. The smells of fine food were replaced by the overwhelming stench of body odour. The classical music Severus had taken great pains to introduce him to were replaced by sobs, the cries of fear Harry had heard every day for months on end, that sometimes he still heard late at night when somebody thought he wasn't listening.

Then it all vanished. Because he saw red.

_Severus_. He had left Severus at home. Severus, who probably felt like shite for the bold assault. Severus, who had only done it - whether he would admit it or not - because he wanted reassurance that Harry still noticed he was alive. He wanted to know that Harry didn't think of him as sub-servant, that Harry wouldn't give into him.

That didn't make it right, but it made it a less annoying. Less wrong. Only so much of a person's emotions could be taken up by bitterness, and right then, anything Severus had done in the past several years paled in comparison to what the Ministry for Magic was doing now.

Feeling rather unwell, he looked around the room. How could no one notice the marks across the servers' heads? Did they notice? Did they care if they did? He could just hear the Muggles in the room, asking what the marks meant. He could just feel them cringing, just hear them whispering about the barbaric customs Wizards had.

That was when his eyes caught the microphone.

It was mounted on a podium, made of expensive mahogany wood. It was obviously there for the sake of the Muggles, as magical people didn't need them, except to use to affectionately remind them of Muggles. It was probably there for a few words by the prime minister, or someone more or less important.

In the eyes of anyone who knew about either Wizarding War, he was more or less important.

When Harry was fourteen-years-old, he had discovered that he hated being in the newspapers. He also discovered that he hated being talked about, having people look at him. He hated standing in front of people and talking; embarrassment led him to forget what he was saying, which led to more embarrassment. The end result was usually him looking stupid.

But this wasn't a speech. This wasn't an oral report on the life and times of The Great Auror Archie Archibald. This was different. This was important. It was important to tell these Muggles what was what. Severus was every single one of the slaves in the room, and Teddy would one day be every young man on the dance floor.

And if Harry didn't sat anything, he would be just like every politician in the room.

_Over my dead body_.

Feeling lucky for once that he wasn't tall and therefore didn't stand out, he stalked over to the podium before anybody could stop him. He paused once he got to the microphone, not knowing how to check to see if it was on. He tapped it.

The room echoed with the noise.

All eyes were on him. He had their attention.

Feeling a little awkward, he coughed. Straightening his glasses, he bent the microphone down to his mouth. "Um, hi everybody. Thanks for coming out. Your majesty. You look ...nice."

Palms sweating, he gripped the front of the podium. "When I got invited to come here, I looked for every excuse to not show up. My son turned into a fish in the tub, I stubbed my toe, my owl was throwing up. But, you know, I don't have an owl."

As his delivery was lame and the joke not that funny, no one laughed.

"But my closest friend talked me into coming. He reminded me that as much as I hate balls, dressing up, and pretending that I actually want to be somewhere, that Magical/Mug- Non-Magical Unity is important. It's the most important thing in either of our worlds that we get along, and are treated as equals; but that's not what I see happening here tonight."

Many very influential people were glowering at him, their eyes dark and narrowed. A few young ladies in the back looked bored, and were waving a fan in their faces, though it was hardly warm in the room. Kingsley didn't smile, but he didn't look disapproving, which was good because Harry wasn't sure he could take him in a fight. The Queen's poker face broke, and Harry returned the small smile.

"I work very hard every day in the Auror Training Programme. I want to be an Auror so I can be on top of the criminals working to divide the Muggles and Wizards, and stop them before there is a problem. At night, I am a busy parent, and have been working to rehabilitate my friend, who has been living with me for over a year, who deserves so much better than he's got. He's a bigger hero of Magical/Non-Magical Unity, because he gets no credit for what he's done. In fact, he's been punished for it."

A couple Aurors in the corner, famously awarded with medals, starting whispering in the corner.

It occurred to Harry that he'd better hurry it up, or he might get thrown out before he could walk out. "Severus was a loyal Death Eater for two years, before he switched over to the good side, and worked to prevent as much damage to Muggles as possible. He saved lots of lives, and I'm not saying that excuses his behaviour, but no kind of crime warrants the punishment. He's a slave, and screams at night with nightmares because of the pain he's suffered. He worships the ground I walk in, because I haven't harmed him. He lives in fear that I will take advantage of him, because far too many others have."

At risk of humiliating them, Harry gestured to the servers, who had all congregated together during the time he had been speaking. "These people serving you dinner are no different. And the odds are, most of them aren't former Death Eaters. But a majority of them have suffered, in the hands of the Wizards here that claim to be promoting the equality of everyone in this room. Well, I'm not like them. I'm not a hypocrite, and I'm not going to tolerate this. I think I will promote many good things tonight, by being at home and teaching my son about Muggles, by holding Severus and apologise for the way I've been acting for awhile."

He wiped his hands on his robes, getting ready to end it. "To everyone out here that isn't magical, please don't let this be what you judge wizards and witches off of. This is a very poor sampling. I'd rather be eating at the table of Lucius Malfoy tonight; at least I would know what to expect going in. At least I know he'd be honest about the way he felt about things. Goodnight."

He reached, and pushed the microphone up to its original place.

And that was when the Aurors pushed past the crowd.

Several woman began to scream, and a couple especially cowardly men covered their eyes. A man yelled, "look out", while an elderly woman fainted.

_You can't go to gaol tonight. You've got to show up at the house. They're expecting you._ He held his hands up, the universal sign of surrender. "I'm done! I'm done! I'm going home."

That was when time slowed to a near standstill. It struck him that he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe because there was a heavy weight on his right side. He put his hands on his chest, but didn't feel anything out of the normal.

Something bitter was in his mouth, and he coughed it out in his hand.

It was blood.

**Coming Up Next In _Unwell_...**

**Chapter Eighty-Three: _A&E_**


	83. A&E

**Disclaimer**: _I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I am making no money from this story._

**Chapter Eighty-Three**

**"A&E"**

* * *

Everyone has things in their lives that they dread. For example, Master had oft mentioned out loud the fear that his son might have the ability to spout working fish gills. Severus dreaded losing his master, by being sold, by death, by losing the relationship they had together. Teddy dreaded nap-time and bedtime equally.

Some things are not worthy of dread. Naps never hurt a person, and in fact Severus had often wished time to nap rolled-over like a free person's vacation days. The fear of Teddy being unable to breathe was understandable, but unfounded; if he ever began to turn blue against his own will, it would be a result of shoving olives up his nostrils, not gills appearing in his neck.

_Losing Master_. Dreading what was out of your control was pointless, which was why Severus went out of his way to protect his master, to exert what control he had. He worried over him every day when he Apparated to the Ministry for Magic, and would never admit it, but as soon as he had obtained his wand, checked his master's wards for strength. He needed his master not only to provide for his physical needs - food, shelter, warmth - but for the needs Severus had only recently learned were more important. Being loved, being cherished, having someone worry about you without selfish reasons why, that Severus had never known before Master.

_You are not being selfish for worrying about him_, he answered the voice in his head calling him a hypocrite. _Master Weston did not care what happened to you after he sold you, whereas if Master sold you, you would always worry about him. There is a difference. I am not required to love him._

That much was true; Severus had not once told his master his fondness for him. Though Master whispered it into his hair at least twice daily, Severus never responded. Master had never expected him to.

As if he were not already feeling enough guilt, regret plagued him. Why had he never said "I also love you"? Why had he never said something to indicate it? He had always assumed his actions were enough - what if they weren't? Would his master die thinking Severus thought of him as just another master? His guts twisted.

"Severus?" Mistress Hermione broke the silence. "Mrs. Weasley is talking to you."

Sevuers looked up. Indeed, the plump woman, with streaks of grey beginning to blend with her ginger hair, was looking down on him.

"... Molly?" Severus inquired unsurely.

"Severus dear," her smile was overly compassionate, "Teddy is getting tired. It is nearly midnight, and he was due to go to sleep four hours ago."

He looked over at the screeching toddler, struggling to get off of Arthur Weasley's lap. He was not ignorant to what was going on. He was a smart child, and could not be unaware that something was wrong. That would not help his behaviour tonight.

Teddy. Dressed in his footed pyjamas, he was the easily the most endearing child currently in the A&E. He was also the most loved, most supported. And it would be in his own best interest to face what he dreaded.

Severus, let up on the lip. God, I know you like having teeth back, but enough with the emphasis. He realised he was biting his lip, and with his master's words berating him, he released it.

"If you could take him home with you, that would be wonderful." Severus rubbed blearily at his own eyes.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. She put her hand out as if to rest it on Severus' shoulder, but stopped short of touching him. "We are here for you, if you need anything. That is what family is for."

It was a nice sentiment, but only made Severus feel worse. The Weasley family was not his family. Master and Teddy were his family, and if the worst were to occur, Severus would not see the Weasleys or Teddy again.

He supposed it was selfish for him to be upset over something like an advance directive. While he should be focussing all his energy on his master, he instead began an upset over his own future.

He put his head to his hands, groaning miserably.

"Severus," Hermione waited until the Weasleys left the room, "you can take one of their seats now."

She didn't understand. No one understood why he had to kneel on the cold tiled floor of the A&E. They did not understand appealing to everything right by doing right, to try to make things all right.

Ron leaned down to speak in a low voice. "They're Muggle here, ya'know? They won't get what you're doing."

And still Severus ignored them. If all they were worried about at the moment was him kneeling n the floor, they needed to check their priorities.

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, Hermione stood. "I have got to use the ladies' room. Severus, will you come with me?"

He was not sure what to be insulted by. "Are you trying to insinuate something, get me alone, or simply go for a walk?"

"Come with me, and find out."

Standing up, his legs began to shake and his knees began to scream cries of relief. He followed her down the hall of the hospital, noting how they passed the loo as they walked.

Hermione reached out to take his hand, to guide him as they navigated the halls together. She gave it a comforting squeeze. "Do you think a Muggle did it?"

That was a matter Severus had given much thought before he had realised he didn't care. "I doubt that a Muggle would be that brave, foolish, and arrogant all at once. They are aware that they do not know the capacity we have for magic - why would one bring a Muggle weapon into a facility with wizards present?"

"How they could was my question." She added. "Kingsley said that the blade was large, and sharp. Human bodies are resilient, so it takes a strong knife to pierce a body, into a lung. That would not be easy for a Muggle to conceal."

_Grimace_. He knew from experience that not just anyone could stab another. Any time he had something pummeled inside of him, it had alway been at the hands of someone bigger, stronger, than master or himself.

He pulled his hand from Hermione, wrapping his arms around himself. "The wound is not fatal," he spoke as fact.

She hesitated before answering. "It is not something I have read much about, but it must be serious, or they would have healed him right at the dance. We have been here for hours, without an update, meaning there isn't anything to update us on."

That could be perceived as a good thing. In a way, no news was good news.

"I am going to have to go to my flat in a few hours, so that I can call my professors and explain the situation. They don't like unexplained absentees. Ron will probably have to Owl work, too." She spoke slowly, stopping at a traffic jam of wheelchairs, an empty gurney, and a laundry cart.

Severus moved to the side to get out of the staff's way. "I am fully competent on my own. Send George home, also." Too many people treated him worse than a small child.

"You are fine _waiting_ on your own," she corrected. "No one needs to receive bad news on their own, though. I was just letting you know that when I leave, Ron will stay and vice-versa. I know you have abandonment issues."

He gritted his teeth. Granger felt too familiar with him to have tact. "There will be no bad news. This is the best A&E in London, for both Muggle and Magical ailments."

"What if they ask about the EPA?" Hermione persisted.

Severus started back down the hall, getting lost in the dizzying maze. "I was unaware Master had so much as an advance directive."

She stopped, and it wasn't because she was waiting on the lift. "Harry didn't tell you he made a will? He had to, for the training programme. It is required of all persons in the programme, because of the mortality risk."

_Master did make a will_. Relief flooded through Severus. "Teddy?"

"Mr. And Mrs. Weasley wouldn't take 'no' for an answer." she replied. "And George volunteered to have you come live with him. You have gotten on so well together since you came to live with Harry."

The mystery of George had a very anti-climatic answer. "And here I was starting to suspect they were lovers."

Hermione lifted a brow nearly as bushy as her hair. "George is gay?"

"No." They turned around, and headed back to the waiting room. "Thank you for your courtesy in telling me. Do not tell my master - he is intent on keeping my potential future master's identity a secret, apparently."

Her eyes were tired, and had dark streaks of make-up running from them. Still, they matched her smile. "He is very protective of you. It might have been hard for him to broach the topic."

_What an idiot._ Severus did not have to speak the words for his forehead to begin burning. And he ignored the pain, because anyone who thought such about a man with a severe injury deserved it.

Ronald, the broad-shouldered ginger, stood as they re-entered the room. "You can take my seat, Severus. I am going to hunt down a vending machine, I have always wanted to try foam bananas."

_Nice try_. Severus reached his hand out, and wandlessly summoned the sweet from the Muggle machinary. "_Bon appetit_."

He returned to his place on the floor. Master's friends did not understand his determination to be there. It was always difficult for him to articulate what he felt, but even more so now. He had messed up. If it weren't for him, Master mightn't have gotten stabbed. He should have been there to protect his master, agreeing to go as a friend.

He was not kneeling out of submission; it was out of repentance.

"What were you saying about the Enduring Power of Attorney?" An EPA had the ability to make financial and personal decisions on behalf of Master, the donor, were he incapacitated. A potion-induced coma certainly rendered him incapable.

Ron coughed. "'Mione, it was good knowing you. If you tell him and he doesn't kill you, Harry will. Snape, don't hex the messenger."

Already Severus did not like where this was going. "Hermione?"

"To become an EPA, you need to sign a lot of paperwork," she began. "But your signature as a slave means nothing to the law. You are not in a position to be making promises and assurances."

That much was true. Severus was not allowed to sign any sort of paperwork, because he could not hold himself to the agreement. His master had to sign all papers for him, whether they were papers for employment, bills to sign, or legal papers. He could not guarantee promises like he once did; an Unbreakable Vow would most certainly kill him now, if his master forbid him to do what he promised.

Severus' voice deepened with suspicion. "I do not like where you are going with this."

The girl gulped, something Severus got satisfaction out of. She had fed him like a dog, bathed him, pitied him, and yet he could still take her back to her first-year of school with a tone. "Don't blame me. He was set on appointing you. He said there was no one better for the job."

_No one better for the job._ Master trusted Severus. Despite how he ignored him, had avoided him in the past weeks, he loved him enough to trust him with his life. Not because Severus was a slave and would always try to comply with his master's wishes, but because he was trying to extend the trust to Severus that Severus afforded him.

Whatever the reason for his master's strange attitude, it seemed to have nothing to do with how he felt about Severus.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling particularly weak. He opened his mouth to respond with a snappy remark, to recover any dignity he might have lost with non-verbal communication, with Master George burst into the room, from where he was listening in on the operating room with Extendable Ears.

His blue eyes were wide, his freckles standing out on his pale face. "I think something's wrong."

* * *

When Master was finally deemed awake and lucid enough to receive one visitor, it was Severus who was given permission to go in. Master's friends had all but insisted.

It was he, after all, who had to make the decision in which direction to go. When the physicians approached him with a choice, he had, failing all Slytherin ways of thinking, chose 'possibly dead' over 'probably disabled'.

Master had been afforded a private room, with a window displaying a sunny grassy field Severus knew not to be there. The walls were as white as no simile could describe.

It was Severus' idea of hell on earth.

Master looked terrible. His face was frighteningly almost as white as the walls, so that his scar was barely visible. His dark hair stuck together, unwashed sweat. His glasses were lopsided on his face, as if they had broke and no one had bothered to properly repair them.

_He needs you. Be strong._ Severus ordered himself to not think about himself in this moment, but to be what his master needed. He bowed his head deeply, then he leaned against the bed's rails, clasping his master's hands.

Master's green eyes fluttered open. "Severus." His voice was raspy; the Healer had warned that it would hurt for him to talk for a couple days.

"I'm here." He tried to smile. "Do not worry about Teddy; he is with Arthur and Molly."

"Oh, that's-" Master stopped. "Did you just call them Arthur and Molly?"

The names sounded strange coming from Master's lips. "Yes."

Master relaxed. "Excellent. I am so sorry for what happened before I left the other night. I didn't mean to ignore you - I was just avoiding you. I thought it would help." He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Javier - the bloke that you walked in on me with - said that he thought I loved you, and I said I did, and he said he meant that I really loved you. That made me worried, because if it seemed that way to an outsider, how were you thinking I loved you? I tried to distance myself, you know, so that everyone including you got the message, but that only made things worse, and all I could do was think about how much I loved you - but not like that - and the different ways I could show both of those things without confusing you, or me, because we're going to be together for a long time, and one can always leave it to either you or me to muck it up. We always muck things up. Mostly me, because I just have this knack for-"

Severus had stopped listening after the second run-on sentence. "-Master."

Master took a shallow breath, winced, and hesitated. "I'm a stupid man."

It took Severus a moment to take all it in. Master had been avoiding him because he thought that he was being too physically affectionate? He had been worried about what other people thought, for once in his life. He had been worried about what Severus thought, because Merlin forbid he hurt Severus.

Everything Master did revolved around Teddy, Severus, and their family. He well deserved to get stabbed, for it was time for him to take a vacation, even if it required a trip to the A&E to get it.

Master had not wanted Severus to think the goodnight visits, the lying in each other's beds, the tender touches, were of a sexual nature. He had become paranoid they could become interpreted as such. He panicked, and had made moves that made Severus panic as well.

He leaned forward, and placed a gentle kiss on the corner of Master's lips; a day's worth of stubble scratched his lips. "You are a stupid man."

Master blinked. "Did you- your forehead."

Severus bent so that Master would not have to exert himself and further damage his lung, so that Master's fingers could brush across his forehead. "Draco Malfoy was behind the attack on you, and sent a man to do the deed. The lot of them were found guilty this morning."

Master groaned, as the long tube suctioning fluids from his lungs gurgled. "I don't rightly remember what happened. I saw a slave, and the queen smiled."

The queen smiled, at Master? Severus could not help but swell with pride, and smile with endearment at the man in bed. "Shacklebolt provided the fill-between to us while you were in emergency surgery."

"Shacklebolt? Kingsley? He talked to you?" Master's green eyes were wide.

He had. Severus had thought he was hallucinating when the buff man walked into the A&E. "He apologised for his involvement in the slavery spell." Severus paused. "I told him to fuck himself."

Master laughed, but it didn't look like laughing; it looked like pain. "Ow. Did you really tell him that?"

"I should have." Severus moved the catheter bag to the other side of the bed frame, so that he could crawl into the small bed with his master. It was a tight fit.

Master leaned his head on Severus' shoulder. "If I ask you to forgive me, will you tell me to shove it, too?"

"No, however I might call you a berk. Or stupid again; that was rather satisfying."

"A stupid berk." Master sighed, brushing his hand across Severus' head again.

Severus steeled himself, trying not to outwardly enjoy the feeling, lest Master get himself into a frenzy again. "I need to apologise for my actions. Absolutely nothing warranted the move I made." He had separated Master's robes, something he had done frequently with former masters. He wasn't going to touch him, or try to pleasure him - the idea sickened him. No, he had only wanted Master to think he was, because if anything was to make Master notice him, it was behaviours like that.

"You didn't pinch my son. No one got hurt. It's just ...God, Severus, anything else would have been better, considering what I was avoiding you over." Master's cheeks were beginning to regain colour.

Severus looked at the man. "Do not do that to me again. If you must avoid me for a reason, let me know why. I might argue that it is a poor reason, but at least I will know. Speaking of which," he reached down to pull the covers up higher around them, "I know the secret you wouldn't tell me about Master George."

Guilt flashed on Master's face. "Um ...yeah, I suppose being told before this happened would have been ideal."

"Not telling me was one of the more idiotic things you have done recently." Severus scolded him. "Did you think broaching the topic would have made me have a panic attack?"

Master grimaced in pain again. "The possibility of something happening to me is fairly high, considering what I do for a living. Every time I thought about telling you, something else would come up. I thought we had plenty of time."

"You thought you had plenty of time to plan for a unexpected death?" Severus scoffed.

Master protested. "You didn't have a will when Nagini bit you, and you were much older than me. You were a goddamn double-agent. You probably expected to die."

"I was sure I would." Severus once again took Master's hand in his, careful to not bother the right side of the man's body. "And I did not need a will, an enduring power of attorney. I had nothing to leave, and was optimistic that I would die before someone could intervene." He coughed loudly.

"I'm not going to apologise for that. If I have it my way, you'll live forever."

Merlin forbid. "You always have your way."

"Not always. It wasn't my idea to get stabbed."

A Wizarding nurse, wearing an atrocious green uniform, stepped in the room. "Mr. Potter, it is- goodness gracious!"

Severus had a feeling she wasn't upset because he had moved the catheter.

"Get out of the bed!" She practically pulled Severus out of bed by his robes. "Are you in pain, Mr. Potter?"

He coughed, a few specks of blood landing on his hospital gown. "Let Severus stay. He's fine."

"You need your rest," she lectured. "Your friend can wait out in the waiting room."

Severus shifted on his feet, waiting on a more direct order from his master. He was hoping he would be able to stay. There was still so much he wanted to share with his master, after thinking he was losing him forever. Some of those things involved conversation, but so many just involved being with him. That wouldn't interfere with his rest.

"Can't he just sleep on a cot next to the bed?" Master asked. "Or we could make the bed wider by-"

"Hospital rules." she said firmly. "I could get your Healer, or-"

"-no, that's fine. Severus, do you want to see if George will let you spend time with him? It's almost seven in the morning - you've been up all night."

"Visiting hours start at nine," the nurse added, fluffing up the pillows behind Master.

"I could wait in the waiting room, Master. I'd much prefer it."

"Or you could get a couple hours of sleep at the Weasley's."

Severus turned to the nurse. "You would not happen to have a place where you put slaves who are here while their owners are in recovery?"

Master tried to sit up, but the tubes and pain prohibited it. "Don't you dare, Severus."

"What do you think this is, a hotel? You and everyone else." The nurse scoffed. "Go home; visiting hours are a nine."

**Coming up next in _Unwell_...**

**Chapter Eighty-Four: _Role Reversal_**

**_A/N: You are all fantastic. I am not going to pretend a quip in this chapter was not a result of your suspicions. Thank you for everything. Buukkin, I used your fantastic fan art for a cover, and gave you credit. If this is unacceptable, please let me know and I will replace it. Thanks for it!_**


	84. Role Reversal

**Disclaimer**: _I do not own "Harry Potter", or the characters from it. I am making no money from this story._

**Chapter Eighty-Four**

**"Role Reversal"**

* * *

Master was ready to go home in a matter of days. Though a stabbed lung was rarely an injury wizards suffered from, the Healers were skilled, and had made their assurances that Master would be fully recovered within a fortnight.

Severus had a feeling they had only said that because they knew he wouldn't have let Master leave had they said otherwise.

"You cleaned my room." Master stopped at the doorway of his bedroom.

With his arms supporting the man, Severus moved him over to the bed. "I did. I realise this might make you angry, but the potions necessary for your recovery are being kept in the kitchen. If you want them, you will have to come through me."

Master had struggled with an addiction to Dreamless Sleep. He would have to be careful about taking potions for the rest of his life, in the same way Severus would have to limit the use of Occlumency to an absolute minimum.

Severus sat at the foot of the bed, crossing his feet underneath him. "I suppose you read _the Prophet_."

A sigh. "I didn't have to. Ginny stormed into my room at the hospital early this morning, chased by security. Is it selfish for me to wonder if I'm ever going to catch a break?"

Lucius Malfoy had been found guilty of numerous charges. Conspiracy to commit murder had only been the tip of the iceberg, the cherry on top of a long list of crimes.

"She was sad, or happy. Maybe both. With women, you never really know." Master sighed again. "Sentencing is tomorrow. After months of trial, it all ends in a matter of days. The Wizengamot is ridiculous - draw it all out for a clearly guilty man, but when it comes to someone who might actually be innocent, they don't stop to think."

He was not sure if Master was referring to his own incident during his fifth year, or Severus' punishment for his deeds. "I suppose you will not be attending the sentencing."

"Do you have any intention of letting me out of this god-damn bed?"

Severus cocked his head, considering the matter. "Perhaps to the loo."

Master shook his head. "No. I wouldn't go. Ginny isn't going, either. His trial was fair, that's all we care about. Going to the sentencing would imply we approve of any of the punishments the Wizengamot is liable to hand out."

"It's too bad what he did to you wasn't illegal. Since your curse has no counter, slavery as punishment would maybe get booted once the Ministry realised what they did. Too bad it isn't reversable; Trust me, if there were a loophole there, we'd have found it by now." Master gently knocked his bare foot against Severus' knee, a comforting pat from the other side of the bed.

The question was, would Severus even want it? "A reversal would put me in a position not to be envied."

"And the one you're in now is?" Master raised a brow.

Severus had considered the matter numerous times in the past months. To be deemed free would leave him homeless, friendless, without a job, and with far too much baggage without someone to share it with. He tried to explain it to his master in the best words he could, but was not sure he conveyed the depths of the hypothetical situation adequately.

Master nodded, however. "I know it'll never happen, but you don't have to worry about being without friends. George is your friend, and so is Gik. You know I'll always be your friend."

_Friend_. Master was so many things to him, aside from the obvious. He was a comforter, a magician with the powers to make his worries dissolve. He was the kindest, most caring, most loving, most loyal person Severus had ever met. He was the centre of his world.

Friend, however, he was not. Friend, he would never be.

"No." Severus said. "You are not my friend."

Master frowned. "Then I think that I lied to just about everyone at the hospital when they said you were sweet; I said that you weren't, we were just close friends."

People had thought Severus was sweet? The idea sickened him. "We are close, however we are not friends." Severus had never done well at maintaining friendships. Most friendships he had in his past life were to achieve means to an end, not because he had actually thrived on their company.

He had been friends with Lily. Close friends, however, they had not the relationship he had with Master. They had been fond of each other, and had spent their spare time with one another. Severus had worshipped her, leading into obsession. He worshipped Master, but different emotions were involved.

Master's ability to hide hurt was poor; the eyes he shared with his mother always gave him away. "I didn't mean to put words in your mouth or anything. I just thought- We get on so well now, and ..."

"We do. Like I said, we are close. The intimacy in our relationship is unlike most people ever experience in a lifetime, I believe." Severus scoffed at his master's face. "_Intimacy_ does not imply relations, Master."

"I know that," the man muttered. "I went to a good school."

He continued as if Master hadn't spoken. "And you would not need to get worked up if it did; sexual intimacy with you is the last thing I'm worried about."

It was difficult for Severus to see things from his master's point of view, though he tried. He tried to understand that the first time someone had verbalised their opinions on Master's sexuality, it was something Master had been denying to even himself. It made a little sense that it would alarm him because someone misunderstood the nature of their relationship.

Only a little sense, however.

"Really?" Master propped himself up on his elbows, but began coughing.

"I trust you to refuse, were I on my knees begging you, giving explicit consent. I trust the facts that you could have anyone you wanted, and I have always been a last resort. I am far more worried about Lucius Malfoy's sentence."

Master's brow furrowed. "But we have no control over that."

"Wonderful. It seems I've no concerns right now whatsoever." Severus, having made his point, stood, and headed to the door. "I was just going to boil vegetables for supper, perhaps beef with onions. Molly offered to keep Teddy another night, however I thought the sooner we got him home with us, the sooner he will get back into his routine. That will be better for all involved."

He escaped out the bedroom door, before Master could stop him.

He took a deep breath, leaning against the hallway wall. He hadn't meant to go there. He hadn't meant to take the conversation towards the comments Master's lover had made. He hadn't meant to voice his opinion on the matter. The words had just came out, like they would for a Hufflepuff.

_Intimacy_. What a foolish word to use. Of course Master would associate it with sex. And of course he would become paranoid of the thought of associating it with Severus. He was probably beating himself up now, thinking what a terrible person he was for his mind to even think such a thought.

He didn't expect Master to understand. When you were able to have anyone you wanted without fear of their motives, you couldn't possibly begin to see things through Severus' eyes. Master didn't understand how Severus couldn't trust anyone with something so raw, deep, and as much as he disliked it to be, important. It was so much less about physical attraction than something emotional. It was far more about trust, than sexual desire.

Instead of heading down the hall, downstairs to the Floo, he sank to the blue carpeted floor. Though most men would struggle at their muscles straining, bones cracking, Severus hardly noticed; it was an action he was far too used to taking.

He wouldn't go as far as to say 'desire'. However, since his conversations with Master about such sensitive topics had started, he had realised something; Master was the only person Severus would ever feel comfortable with in that way. It was only Master Severus would ever feel comfortable touching him, knowing he was not doing it at Severus' expense. It was only Master that Severus would ever dream of crawling into his bed, and actually being able to sleep without fear of being used.

_You're not gay._ That much was true. Severus had never desired another man. He had been used by more men than women, but that had more to do with their libido than anything else. He had only eyes for Lily for many years, and then even when his eyes did stray, it was at women. All he had ever done when thinking of sexual contact with men was shudder; this had only worsened when he became a slave.

But just as Master was not a friend, he was also not a man to Severus. He was all the good, with little bad. He was gentle, and kind, and could have a wicked sense of humour at times. He could be thick, but even that was endearing. He was so giving, and yet had a self-importance he didn't seem to realise. As unattractive of a term as it was, he was a saviour. Not "Saviour-Of-Us-All", though that was what he was deemed; he was Severus' saviour.

He growled to himself. That was disgusting.

"Severus?" Master's voice called from the hall. "Are ...are you still here?"

"Yes, Master!" Severus quickly stood up, brushing off the robes he wore. "I was ...ah, checking to see that Master Teddy's room was ready for him."

Silence. And then, "Master Teddy? Severus, are you okay?"

_Damn_. Severus had not thought of the child even internally as a master for some time, yet the word had just slipped out. "I apologise, Master. A nervous twitch, I suppose."

"Uh-huh." Severus could feel his master's doubt from down the hall. "Um, I can Firecall Mr. Weasley and have him bring Teddy over, if you'd rather not go get him."

No. Severus needed to get out of that house. The brown panelling was closing in on him. He needed to get away from his thoughts, and the perfect place to leave them was at home.

The Burrow was too distracting to bring them with him.

* * *

The smell of warm pie filled Severus' nostrils as he stepped out of the Floo.

"Severus!" Mrs. Weasley gave him a breath-catching hug. Her calico dress was covered with flour. "It is so good to see you! How is Harry?"

He had only just left the Burrow that morning, after spending the night with Teddy. He didn't need a welcome committee. "He is well, all things considered."

Severus looked over the plump woman's shoulder to the toddler, who was happily banging away at a roll of dough with a child-sized rolling pin. His hair was bright orange, his face littered in freckles. That would not do. "Ah. I see you have decided to add another to your fold."

Molly laughed. "He changed it after breakfast. I think he is really starting to get a hold on his abilities."

As Teddy had grown older, Severus had done a bit of reading on Metamorphmagus. It was rare to be one, and so there was not a lot to read on it. A terrific resource was a book written by a doctor who was a Metamorphmagus, with two children like him. His studies revealed that it was not until children reached the age of two or three that they were even aware of their abilities, and it was not until five or six that they were considered mature enough to control them within reason.

That said, Severus would hardly call what Teddy had achieved "getting a hold"; he had likely woke up that morning, and decided he wanted to look like a Weasley, because he knew he could. He was aware that he could, but did not realise it was something special. He did not realise that you could not develop a pig snout in Muggle public, and mightn't be able to stop himself from doing so if he were.

He was not going to argue with the woman. Instead he walked over to Teddy, and patted the wild hair down. "Hello Teddy; do you want to go home?"

"Home to see Daddy?" Amber eyes blinked at him, reminiscent of Lupin. Eyes were the one thing Metamorphaguses had little control over.

"It is going to be so quiet here without him." Molly took a pie from cooling on the windowsill, and began wrapping it loosely in a towel. "He does miss his parents; he asks about you both every night."

_Parents. No._ Severus had been through enough himself that afternoon thinking about Master and himself. He did not need to be thought of as a parent. "Master is Teddy's father, as well as the late Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks, also a parent, also deceased. Master is the sole living parent, and I would prefer you to keep that in mind."

"I understand," Molly said in such a way that illuminated how little she did. "I will get little Teddy cleaned up, and his duffle filled."

Though Severus could get the task done in a matter of minutes, he let Molly go ahead and do it. She would want a few final minutes with the grandson she had adopted in her heart, and Severus was in no hurry to get home.

Arthur let himself in the back door. "Severus!" He greeted him, putting his bag down.

Severus inclined his head. "Arthur."

After exchanging greetings and updates on Master's condition, Arthur indicated to the door. "Would you like to go outdoors for a walk?"

He glanced up the long winding stairs. "Molly is getting Teddy's things together. Master and I decided we would rather have him back tonight, than wait until Master is more self-sufficient."

Arthur put his head back and laughed. "It will be nearly an hour before they are done with that."

_He wants to get you alone. There is something he wants to tell you, and the very walls have ears._ Because it was obviously a piece of information needing exchanged. Arthur would not take advantage of Severus. He would not take him to his shed and shed his trousers.

"Just for conversation. I spend my day indoors, and like to listen to the birds before the biting insects come out at night." Arthur seemed adept at following Severus' thoughts.

That seemed safe; Severus followed Arthur outdoors.

The cool grass was damp after a recent rain. The birds were indeed chirping. The breeze blew lightly, cool against Severus' face.

It was not until they had neared the vegetable garden, with the last of that year's fruition, that Arthur spoke. "I went to Chelsea today."

Severus looked up. He had spent little time in Chelsea, but the time he had was significant.

"Richard Weston invited me for tea. He said there was something important for us to discuss, in terms of our children breaking it off. It did not matter to me what he had to say - I do not meddle in the affairs of my children - however, I was very curious in the man himself. The man who did what he did to you, the man who raised Nathan, he would be someone with an interesting mind to pick."

Severus crossed his arms over his chest. He felt a lump rise in his throat, and tried to swallow it. Everyone kept telling him Master Weston was a cruel, twisted man, yet it still made Severus' heart sick to think of him. He hadn't loved Severus - not as Master loved him - however, he had never been needlessly cruel to him.

_And that is how you decide who you get attached to, by who doesn't hurt you? Dogs are even more discerning than that._

Arthur laughed, a bitter laugh. "He looked terrible. The scarring from the rats was terrible. I am convinced that his right eye is glass."

A shudder. Severus couldn't imagine how the traumatic event had changed his former master. It could not have been for the good; Severus felt very sorry for any slaves the man had bought after selling Severus? He imagined he kept them in his office, in the closet where he had stored Severus when he had brought him in, or perhaps under the desk for 'games'. He wouldn't keep them in the pristine white flat, for Mistress Weston to find.

"He is the one who broke the news to me about Lucius Malfoy." Arthur said. "Apparently he suspects my daughter of dating his son only to get an 'in'."

Severus knew that to be true. When Master promised his friends he would not tell anyone, he did not count Severus as just anyone. "The papers were very thorough. I suspect the Wizengamot of not wanting to admit they were wrong about his innocence. Master's stabbing stopped them from dragging their feet."

Arthur nodded. His hands were stuck in the pockets of his robes. "What do you think about Lucius being found as guilty?"

Mistress Brown only asked how he _felt_. He was so glad that a majority of the people in Severus' life asked him what was far more reliable; what he thought. "He is guilty of the crimes accused." He lifted his head, the sun falling on his face. "I had no personal vendetta against him until he hurt Gik, until he and young Mast- his son hired someone to kill my master."

Arthur hesitated. "You aren't angry at him for his involvement in your punishment?"

That was a topic Severus was tired of going over with everyone involved and otherwise. He explained to Arthur his thoughts on the matter, that the loophole was there, that all Lucius had done was point it out. "It is the punishment I am not comfortable with. I am comfortable with it having been bestowed upon me, however it is no ones right to hand out, at least until they have lived it. It seems the Wizengamot thinks it is ironically fitting, however; punishment for serving the Dark Lord being a life of servitude."

"That is what I wanted to talk to you about." Arthur said. He took a tin can and filled it with chicken feed. After filling the chickens' food bowl, he turned to the conversation. "An insider at the Wizengamot I know is certain that slavery is the punishment they are going to induce."

The world began to spin, so that Severus had to grip a nearby wheelbarrow to maintain balance. "Certain? I heard about the speech Master made at the dance; I was hoping that might affect the public's opinion of the punishment."

He shook his head. "The speech was forgotten by the turn of events in the moments after."

That was a shame. Severus had heard that it was quite moving, and had really given a case against the punishment of slavery. "Thank you for preparing me for the sentence."

"You can pass it on to Harry. I am sure he wants to know to prepare for-" he stopped.

_My meltdown_. Severus was sure he would be able to contain his compassion for Lucius Malfoy, somehow.

Severus motioned back to the house that stood in an unimaginable teetering fashion. "I suppose Teddy is ready." He paused outside the shed door. "Arthur, you are close with my master."

He nodded. "I am."

"You would not happen to know if he is ...all right." Severus paused. "I know he is recovering from his wound properly, however he is on edge right now when around me. You wouldn't happen to know ...why."

Arthur shook his head. "I hadn't noticed."

Some things were easier to talk about to a peer. Master and his friends were wonderful people, however, they were young, naïve at times. Doctor Brown was paid to guide Severus. She avoided having an opinion, solid advice. Sometimes, however, solid advice from someone older than twenty was needed.

"As I've become more self-sufficient, he has been going out of his way to distance me," Severus explained. "I think it his way of protecting me, of protecting himself."

* * *

Harry turned the cube over in his hand. It was complete. After a hiatus of not working on it, Severus had mastered the Rubik's Cube. He didn't act like it was a big deal, but Harry could just feel the man's pride simmering underneath.

The radio was playing, filling the sitting room with music. It was relaxing to be able to rest on the sofa, without having nurses come in every few minutes to check on him. Hospitals were hardly relaxing; he was so glad to be home, and able to have some peace and quiet.

He turned down the radio as Severus came down the stairs.

"I'm resting," Harry said to Severus. "I promise; I'll send a Patronus to you if I need so much as a glass of water." Severus was worse than the nurses had been.

Severus still wore his robes; he hadn't gone to bed as Harry had thought he had. He bowed his head deeply in Harry's direction, before sitting on the other end of the sofa.

So much for the 'peace' part of 'peace and quiet'.

"You are due for two of your potions." Severus broke the silence. "You don't need your lungs filling up with fluid."

What Harry needed was something to break what was quickly becoming mundane. He never thought he'd say this, but he needed the Auror Training Programme. He needed something to get him out of the house, and away from his family, day after day. He had only been home for half a day, and was feeling the walls close in on him.

Harry summoned the vials off the cupboard. "These two, right?"

"Take an inch of the blue bottle, and a quarter-inch of the green." Severus instructed.

Harry peered at the bottle described as 'green'. "I wouldn't say that's green. It's more of a seaweed blue."

Exasperated, Severus uncorked it. "A quarter-inch only. It is very easy to overdose on liquorice root when combined with falcon claw powder."

Some things still didn't make sense to Harry, even after getting his N.E.W.T.S. "Quarter-inch in a shot glass, or wide-mouthed jar?"

Growling, Severus tipped his wand into the vial, and then dripped a small amount of liquid into Harry's mouth.

"Thanks." Harry wiped his mouth. "So I've got a question for you."

"You may ask." Severus' tone was odd, sounding so much like the sneering Snape Harry had once known.

It made goosebumps rise on Harry's arms. "Oh, um, yeah. Well, you know a lot about potions, but you always wanted the Defence position; would you care to go back to either one of those positions now?"

Severus raised a lone brow. "I found satisfaction in brewing potions, and in creating spells to use as I saw fit. I never did, however, enjoy teaching. Think about how much you enjoy flying."

Harry enjoyed flying very much. He didn't get to do it too often; Severus was a tense mess on a broomstick, and the only other place he went alone was work, where flying in on a broomstick would be frowned upon.

However, he loved flying. He loved getting to a place where he could see eye-to-eye with the birds. He loved being able to see anything and everything. There was something about flying through clouds that made him feel so free.

"Now imagine you are assigned to teach the skill to a class of fourteen Neville Longbottoms."

Harry groaned. He would never forget the near-disaster that had led him to becoming a Seeker. Neville was brave, and loyal, a better person than Harry would ever be. But he had still not grown out of the clumsiness that made Harry cringe.

"Precisely. If I were to teach, I would prefer a subject I hardly care about, such as History of Magic." Severus' lips thinned. "If I were to teach."

"Oh, so you only taught because Dumbledore gave it to you."

Severus lifted his chin. "Rather forced me to. Of course, no one else would hire a person with His mark, and Potions Master was an impressive position for a young man to hold. It was a good job. I hated it, however I am sure I would have hated my job regardless of where I worked. I was miserable, and it had little to do with third-year Hufflepuffs. If I were to, hypothetically, take a job now," he glanced sideways at Harry, "things would be different."

Quite some time ago, it had been mentioned to and by Harry that Severus could someday hold a job if he so wished to. Harry hadn't seen the need, because money was hardly an issue, and Severus was happy where he was at.

Things were constantly changing in the Potter-Lupin-Snape household, and it occurred to him that he best get used to it.

"If you were to have a job, hypothetically, I mean, what kind of job would it be?" Harry picked at his fingernails. He learned from _The Road to Recovery_ that looking directly at Severus whilst asking him such a question might be taken as accusing, or belittling.

"That, I have not given much thought." Severus admitted. He pulled Harry's feet into his lap, and began absent-mindedly rubbing them. He wasn't making eye contact, either. Harry wondered if it was to avoid being take a certain way, too.

"Something with few people involved." Severus continued. "The less people involved, the fewer misunderstandings about my status, and also the less I get irritated."

Despite what Severus might claim, he was never a people-person. It wasn't just hating his life and himself that had led him to be a grouchy bastard while Harry was in school. It was because he hated working in close proximity with so many people.

_You complain because you have been home a day, and things are already driving you crazy. What of Severus? He spends all day here, every day. Every day is the same for him. I'm sure he wants time away from the house, from Teddy, and even from Gik, too._ He suddenly realised what Snape had meant by Harry's ego, his inflated head; Harry could be very thoughtless when it came to others. It wasn't that he didn't care. He just didn't think.

"George offered me a position to brew him potions for his business." Severus was starting to press really hard into Harry's feet. "That might be ideal for starting out, however I am not sure how I might take the certain explosions. It isn't beyond me that he will likely let me brew whatever I want, just to appease me." His face was one of frustration.

Without trying to make his discomfort too obvious, Harry pulled his feet from Severus' lap, and his knees to his chest. "I am sure he has plenty of help with people brewing potions to turn into sweets. What he needs is someone to help invent new ones. Now that Fred is gone, he needs someone to bounce ideas off on."

He hesitated. "It is a small business; I would not ask for pay."

"You don't have to; anything you need, we've got the money."

That didn't seem to be the answer Severus was looking for. "Though, knowing George, he might offer a hefty salary."

Harry didn't want Severus to feel like he had to work for money. It seemed Severus was trying to test him, to see if he was okay with not making any money. "That's fine too, then. And you know what? The money you bring home to me, I'm going to give right back to you. It can be your 'emergency' money, since you aren't actually allowed to have any. For major emergencies, like, I dunno, books and picture frames and chocolate frogs. Whatever you want to buy."

Severus sighed, loudly. "Then I suppose I will do whatever I want when it comes to the pay."

Exactly. Whatever Severus wanted. How he had longed for the day where Severus did what he wanted, not what he thought Harry did. "You do that."

"I spoke to Arthur this afternoon." Severus changed the subject. "He had a strong opinion about our relationship."

Harry felt himself wince before he could stop. He just knew he was not going to like this. "Did he."

"He thinks you needn't be so paranoid over what I think your intentions are." Severus looked over at Harry, staring at him intently. "He thinks you should relinquish the control of it over to me."

Harry stared at him. That was ...crazy. Arthur had finally taken a flying leap off the cliff of nutters. Severus couldn't control anything. That was the reason he lived with Harry. Even when he tried to let Severus control it, Harry never knew if it was just what Severus thought he wanted.

This wasn't something to mess around with. This wasn't deciding what was for dinner, or what cloak to buy. This was something serious, something that if it went the wrong way, could damage what they had together forever.

Worse, it could damage Severus. If one thing happened, one small thing happened against his will in such a manner, the Severus Snape that was starting to emerge from its shell might disappear and never come back.

"You can't." Harry curled his toes, face burning at the action that had seemed so innocent moments ago.

Severus lifted his chin. "I can. I just did. I chose to seek a job. I retained the right to choose the salary."

His head was spinning. "Yeah, but only because I let you do it. It's not- It's not real control, Severus. It's just- It's pretend control. You tell me you are going to do something, and I say 'yes', but we both know that I can stop you with a word."

"And this is no different. However, you need to start pretending I have the control more frequently, because the fact of the matter is, I already do and you don't realise it."

"You ...do?" Not for the first time in his life, Harry felt like Snape knew something he didn't know.

Severus' lip curled. "I have you wrapped around my smallest finger."

Now Harry was starting to get angry. "That's not true!" He protested, starting to get up off the sofa.

"Master, if I begin to cry, you cave into whatever you think my need is at the time. How is this any different? If I, for whatever reason, perceived a kiss as a prelude to something more, and expressed such to you, you would stop right in your tracks. You would stop in the way I would if you gave me a clear order to stop doing something."

Harry had never felt so degraded. Though a voice inside him said that Severus had a point, he ignored it. "I wouldn't have to, though. I would, but I wouldn't have to. That's the difference."

"A petty one." Severus growled. He looked down his nose at Harry. "Why are you making such a small issue so difficult?"

This was in no way a small issue. If another could perceive their relationship as sexual, that meant that Severus could. Perhaps not now, but what of next week? What of next year? What of one hundred fifty years from then, as Severus started to develop a form of dementia and got confused?

And who was to say that the line would never be crossed? The fact was, they were close. If they continued with the kisses, the whispers, the late nights in Harry's bed, it could escalate. Harry was the one who was responsible for Severus. Whether Severus liked it or not, he was far more damaged than Harry, and his decision-making was hindered by it. While Severus was so strong, he was also weak; it was up to Harry to help him through those times of being weak.

Letting a kiss on the forehead wander to a kiss elsewhere was not helping.

"Why did you have to bring it back up?" Harry crossed his arms, settling back onto the sofa. "Look, forget-"

He was interrupted by the news on the radio.

Or rather, the latest Horcrux Hideaways single was interrupted. By a male voice, belonging to that of a very popular Wizarding news programme.

The radio closest to Severus, he quickly turned the dial to the volume up.

"Breaking news out of London," the man said. "Any minute now, the decision by the Wizengamot made on the sentence of Lucius Malfoy will be announced. Lucius Malfoy was convicted of unspeakable crimes in cahoots with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and conspiracy to commit murder, only hours ago. It is a decision that many are waiting on the edges of their seats to here."

A chill passed through Harry. This was it. Justice. After years of waiting, Lucius Malfoy would get his. He was not a fan of revenge, and didn't practise it in his daily life, but this was different. He had nearly killed Ginny, nearly killed him, nearly killed Gik, and most importantly, had damaged Severus to the point of nearly not existing. You could insult Harry, maim him, take away everything he had, but there was one thing you did not do.

You did not fuck with his family.

"Right now, the crowds in London are, let me just say it, they are phenomenal. There are hundreds of people outside the Ministry, waving signs of protest. What is so incredible about it though is not the amount of people, however; it is the calm. They are not angry, not shouting; there are no opposing sides as there usually are at such a rally. They are all desiring the same thing; justice for those who had terrible crimes committed against them."

He glanced over at Severus. The man was stone, staring directly in front of him at nothing. Non-blinking, he sat straight, muscles tense.

Severus had been through so much, due to the loophole that mightn't have ever been discovered were it not for Lucius. The pain he had been through was insurmountable, however, he had recovered. More or less, he had recovered. He had triumphed, and remarkably, without a bitter hatred of Lucius Malfoy.

In fact, if Harry didn't know any better, he would say that Severus was dreading hearing the sentence.

Harry scooted over to Severus, wrapping his arms tightly around him. He didn't say any words; he didn't have to. Severus didn't need words. He needed someone to hold him close.

The newscaster was interviewing several people in the crowd. It became increasingly harder to hear, because of the the crowd. They were getting increasingly excited and loud, so that you had to strain to hear.

They became especially so excited when the sentence was announced.

"The Wizengamot decided, as a result of his transgressions, Lucius Malfoy is to be sentenced to a life of servitude. Tomorrow, skilled specialists will visit his cell in Azkaban, and-"

Harry reached over Severus and turned off the radio.

Slavery. In the two years since Severus was sentenced, no one had the intelligence to realise that no one deserved that. That the punishment was far beyond overkill. No one seemed to realise that though the punishment fit the crime, it was ineffective, because they weren't necessarily atoning for their crimes.

Even rotting in a cell would be better than serving a heartless master for the rest of ones life. Harry thought he could be better, but overall was a kind master – yet still Severus could get miserable at times.

Harry pulled out his wand, and summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey and two shot glasses. "Will you join me?"

Severus hesitated, his eyes going from the radio, to Harry, to the shot glasses. Wandlessly, he summoned two large tumblers. He indicated to the measly shot glasses. "We're going to need bigger glasses than that."

**Coming up next in _Unwell_...**

**Chapter Eighty-Five: _Drunk and Disorderly_**

**_A/N: my apologies for the double chapter upload. The site was glitchy, and not properly displaying the chapter._**


	85. A New Reason For Living

**A/N: **_Well. Normally I place these notes at the bottom of the chapter, and perhaps I will move this one there in a few weeks. Firstly, I owe you all an apology, whether or not you are still reading. I unintentionally left you with a cliffhanger, with no notice of my return. Many of you thought me dead, which says a lot about how devoted you know I am to this story, and to you. I wish I could elaborate on the circumstances that led me away from _Unwell_, but suffice to say that life is messy and complicated. Whenever I would try to return to writing, I would get stuck at this chapter. The previous chapter was such an awkward place to leave the story. I wrestled for months with the ending of this chapter, between writing what I wanted and what I thought the readers wanted. Ultimately, I chose to be vague, and think this chapter is all the better for it. I hope to update with great frequency these next couple weeks, in a sad attempt to make my absence up to you._

_Thank you so much for your support, everyone. Honestly, if you are still with me after all this time, you are incredible. I think the world of you, and can't express how much you mean to me. If you've abandoned me, my opinion of you hasn't changed. I would have left me, too!_

_-SocksForDobby_

**Chapter Eighty-Five  
"A New Reason for Living"**

Severus tilted his head up and breathed in the salty air. The cold wind froze the tips of his nose and ears. Dark clouds hung low overhead, but that wasn't anything new. While normally it was a trite thought that stormy weather accompanies gloomy moods, the clouds were always threatening to spill over in the area surrounding Azkaban.

Master leaned forward, and grasped Severus' arm for his attention. "I think I'm going to be sick."

The way the small boat was abused by the waves, it was no wonder. "Close your eyes."

Master tried that for scarcely a moment. "It doesn't help."

"We are almost there." Indeed, the dark black tower loomed ahead.

"That doesn't help, either." Master groaned.

Their guide spoke little English, however, he was well skilled in magic involving boating. They had sped several hundred miles in a short amount of time. It was good that they had, because it left Severus little time to regret the decision he had made when he boarded the small vessel.

It had been many years since he had first arrived at Azkaban. The last time he had, Apparition was still the preferred method of arriving, and he had been bound by many spells to confine him. He had been frightened, but snubbed the guards, too proud to show said fear.

His trial had went well, and he was released in a matter of hours.

That seemed a lifetime ago, and it indeed had been. That had been his past life, and he had gone through so many changes since then. Then, he had been alone with little hope of redemption. This time, he had underwent severe punishment for the same crimes he had once been redeemed for. This time, he knew there were worse things to fear than Azkaban.

And this time, he wasn't alone. He reached for his Master's clammy hand, and pulled him out of the boat.

The ground Azkaban stood on was very small and rocky. It was a man-made island, the rocks placed strategically as a foundation for the prison.

Master looked up, holding his beanie on his head. "I can't even see the top; the clouds are in the way. Severus, look!"

"I would rather not. Vertigo is the last thing I need to battle right now." He felt little guilt at telling his master "no"; over time he had learned to take his master's words as suggestions, more often than not.

Their guide started babbling in Norwegian, pointing towards the large tower and shaking his head.

"He doesn't want to join us, I take it," Master observed.

Severus couldn't blame him. "I am not convinced I would like to join us."

Master's small hand slipped inside Severus'. "It's not too late to turn back."

It was. Not because of the exhausting effort it had taken to find Teddy a babysitter, nor because of the large amount of notes it had taken to get to Azkaban. It was because it was their last chance to see Lucius Malfoy before the Ministry buried his identity.

Severus took a deep breath, and took the short few steps to the only entrance into the tower. He was content to let his master do the talking to the guards. His status as a slave would be well known to the workers of Azkaban, and so his words would carry little weight with them.

Severus appraised the guards. They were dressed in grey uniforms that suited the tower, the rocks, the ocean, and sky perfectly. They were hardly a stark contrast from the Dementors that only a short while ago, served as guards for the high-security prison.

"Hi. I'm Harry Potter, and this is Severus. We Owled yesterday." Master did not let go of Severus' hand.

The guards exchanged amused looks. "We don't often receive visitors. It's not as if families come bringing care packages every weekend."

"Then our visit is a treat to you." Master held up the palms of his hands. "Do your worst."

How Severus wished his Master hadn't said that. The guards insisted on checking all bodily orifices for weapons - Severus had stopped them from checking up Master's pants. They had taken Master's wand, Muggle lighter and kit he insisted on carrying around to fix his glasses. All Severus had on him to take was his wand, something he wasn't keen on giving up, but he followed his master's example and handed it over.

A female guard came out from the tower to guide them on their way up. She warned them not to stop for anything; somehow, Severus didn't think that would be a problem.

If one thought Azkaban was quiet because the prisoners were, they were wrong. In Azkaban, the cells were charmed against sound. The Ministry didn't care if the prisoners screamed to be let loose, tried to kill their cell mates, or wanted a glass of water; the staff didn't need a headache from all of the noise.

The tower was moist and chilled; green moss grew on the walls, and one had to be careful not to slip on the stone steps. As they wound their way up, they occasionally got to a landing, where there would be a group of cells. The prisoners were ragged, eyes bloodshot. They were emancipated, wearing rags that might have been black and white striped at some point. Their mouths moved, possibly screaming for help, but no sound came out; after the fourth landing, Severus had to stop looking. He was not a compassionate person, but the prisoners were like a mirror that, for his own health, he was unable to look into.

"So, Azkaban," Master gripped Severus' hand again as he slipped on one of the slip steps. "Have you worked here long or-"

"It pays the bills." The red-haired guard shot a stinging spell at a prisoner who was mindlessly carving obscenities into his own body. "I pull double-shifts twice a week. It isn't easy, but I have a family to support. My husband thinks he can make a career out of being in a Wrock band."

Severus let Master and the female guard continue their idle conversation. He had no interest in participating, and doubted that she would want to converse with him, with the way that she treated the prisoners. He knew the only thing protecting him from living the way the inmates did was the hand enclosed in his.

At one landing, Severus had a chance to peer out a small window. They had to be nearing the top of the tower. Did they really find it necessary to keep Lucius Malfoy at the uppermost part of the tower?

_He is a terrorist. That is what the Dark Mark makes you. A terrorist against the United Kingdom, against mankind. Terrorists belong at the highest level, to avoid an easy escape._ His mind playing tricks on him, he could almost feel his Mark tingling.

When there were no more stairs to be had, when there was nothing left but a room shrouded with darkness, the guard turned to face them. "I will wait here."

Of course they couldn't be alone. Merlin forbid they try to spring him out, or worse.

Master turned to Severus. Eyeing the darkness where you could only make out the bearings of a cell, he said, "you know, something caught my interest on the floor down. I think I am going to go look at it."

Master would have nothing to say to Lucius. Any words that they would have needed to exchange would have been done so long ago. Though Severus had nothing to say that he wouldn't mind his Master overhearing, he did appreciate the courtesy.

"I will wait here for you." Severus said. "I cannot imagine it will take more than ten minutes." Ten minutes. They had sacrificed a day, money, comfort, and dignity, for ten minutes. Ten minutes with a man neither liked.

He turned, and with a deep breath, stepped into the darkness.

Echoes of his own screams, tortured cries filled his ears as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The cool, dank room reminded him so much of the Monsters', enough to trigger many memories he would rather bury in the recesses of his mind. The manacles mounted on the wall did not help him block those memories.

Unlike the other rooms they had passed on their way up the prison tower, this room held only one cell. It was large, at least as big as three of the normal sized ones. Straw littered the floor, though whether it served as bedding or a means to mask the odour of faeces, he wasn't certain.

Upon first glance, one would think that the cell at the top of the tower was empty. But their eyes were not trained to immediately look in the corners, the corners that lined up against the walls. The corners that provided the maximum amount of safety and protection.

Somehow, even sitting on the floor of a prison cell, Lucius Malfoy managed to look regal. Though his long hair was clearly unwashed, and though his robes had seen many unwashed owners before him, he maintained the dignified stature he had had since Severus had met him.

Only now, it did not look the same. _It isn't dignity. He is only pretending to be hauteur. It is how he is expressing his denial. _Severus had held onto the same thing for so long when he had first become a slave. It was only now that he realised how pathetic he had actually looked.

He knelt down against the bars, a scant two metres from the bedraggled man. "Hello, Lucius."

Though he was sure Lucius saw him with his cold grey eyes, he didn't acknowledge him.

The damage had already been done. A inky black tattoo was stamped on Lucius' forehead. It did not possess the curlicues, loops, and curls that most did, but was a stark black rectangle bearing an 'M' in the middle. Was that how Severus' had looked, the two short times he had been owned by a government? Though he was generally comfortable with the practise of branding of slaves, he found the image which graced the Ministry's slaves distasteful.

"It is not easy," Severus sympathised. Though the man hid it extraordinarily well, of course he was frightened. No one in their right minds wouldn't be. "There are a lot of thoughts going through your mind right now, and none of them are appealing. The fact that you have an idea of what to expect is not to be envied." Had Severus known what might happen to him when the Ministry placed him with Mering, he could only imagine how differently things might have played out.

Lucius didn't move.

Crouching on the floor was not comfortable, but Severus would not further damage his knees by kneeling on the stone floor. He knew his back would punish him later if he sat down on the floor, but sat anyhow, reminding himself to ask his master for a potion later.

Why had he come here? There was no way to comfort or ease the pain of what Lucius was living through, however he felt a need to try. Though it was called a punishment for a reason, it was a drastic one, one that Lucius would be feeling the pain of for the rest of his life. If Severus had to ability to help the transition occur smoothly, the way he wished someone would have been able to do for him, he had to try.

He looked over at the guard, who was busy picking at her fingernails and not paying them any attention. "Soon they'll put you in a confinement, a boot camp of sorts. There should be a maximum of one or two other slaves there – hear their words, but be reluctant to listen. Take whatever they say with a grain of salt. If they are new slaves, they know little better than you, and if they have returned for retraining, they are there for a reason." Had Severus company while at Mering's, he mightn't have turned to Occlumency. Had he not turned to Occlumency, he had no doubt he would be in the equivalent of a padded room at the moment. He would have been driven insane by what he suffered.

"I did not ask for your expertise." Lucius' voice was hoarse from a lack of drinking water, and cracked as though he were trying to keep himself from breaking.

Severus inclined his head, acting as if he did not notice the man's struggle to keep his composure. He had once heard that in some cases it was most noble to pretend not to notice another's tears, and knew that this was one of those cases. "Just do whatever you're told. It will feel degrading, and be the most unnatural thing you have ever done; do it anyway. I do not care if they ask you to rip out your own fingernails. Doing it straightaway is better in the long run, because once they give you the order, they will make you do it anyway. You need to avoid physical punishment. You will need your strength, your mental resources, to come out as unscathed as possible."

_'So long as he thinks he is breaking you, you are succeeding.'_ Severus' life had become all about pretending who was in control. From the moment he began eating out of Master Mering's fingers until now, it was about who was really in control, and who he pretended was in control. The mind-games never stopped.

Though Severus wanted to lessen the fear Lucius was feeling, he thought that by preparing him, he would help more in the long run. "You've no choice of who owns you in the future, however you can manipulate the odds. Find out what your strengths are, what you could spend the rest of your life doing and stay sane. Flaunt that whenever you have a chance."

"Is that how you ended up a sex toy?" Lucius' taunts meant little to Severus, for Lucius was the one behind bars, and Severus the one wearing Harry Potter's Mark on his forehead.

"The first time, yes; Master and Mistress Weston both had their private reasons for wanting me, and after that I was groomed into what I became. Master - Potter, that is - owns me for entirely different reason unrelated to sex."

"Not entirely unrelated." Lucius sneered.

Any insults he was trying to play were petty, especially considering where Lucius could be headed. Nevertheless, Severus was not about to touch that topic with a meter stick. "I can guarantee that whoever buys you will not be in it to treat you kindly. The types who would treat you gently - couples with small children, for example - do not buy Death Eater slaves. We are far too dangerous. You must find out what makes your owner happy, and do whatever it takes to maintain their level of happiness. Their wrath is not worth it, I can guarantee you that now."

Lucius waited a moment before speaking. "You have a lot of guarantees."

"I do." Severus confirmed. "Courtesy of your displacement spell, I learned a lot."

"I will never see you again after this." Severus continued. He took a good look at Lucius as he said this, memorizing the man's face to his mind. Something inside him told him that he would not want to forget how the man looked in those moments, if only to serve as a reminder of how lucky he was to have Master. "The Ministry will see that you become just another slave in a file, another sub-human creature. It is unlikely that you will ever be placed with another Death Eater, for it is a rule of thumb to never mix us. Don't forget us, though. Do not forget your family, Hogwarts, the Dark Lord, or either of the Wars. Those are the things that have made you who you are, and once you lose those things, you cease to exist."

For the first time, it hit Severus what the slavery punishment did that was so terrible. It wasn't losing ones free will, or ownership of ones self. It wasn't about the physical or emotional pain, the degradation and humiliation. It was about ceasing to exist; it was inevitable that over time, you would either be forgotten about, or you would forget your past.

Not even the Dementor's Kiss could erase you as a person.

Lucius sat very still. "Are Narcissa and Draco-"

"-yes." Severus knew they were both incarcerated at much lower levels of the prison, for affiliation with the Dark Lord, and conspiracy to kill Master. "Narcissa will be transferred to a much lower security prison in due time. Draco, I'm not sure about. Master-"

Lucius blanched. It occurred to Severus how much he might not want to hear that word at the moment. _Master_. Once Severus had to spit the word out, however now he spoke it with such ease. _Master_. He didn't see it so much as a sign of submission or respect, as simply the man's name.

"-we think he will be spared your sentence. As of yet, no one in his age-range have been made slaves." But of course Lucius knew that, as he had helped create the law.

While the conversation was intended to greatly improve Lucius' quality of life, it wasn't right to torment him with it for too long.

Severus stood. "Master is going to try to keep tabs on you. so that you don't completely disappear. That way, if Narcissa or Draco are freed and wish to find you, perhaps even try to buy you, they will not have the same problem Master had when I was first sold." He could only imagine how long Lucius would last as a slave owned by Narcissa or Draco. If he ever thought that his own existence was convoluted, he could just think of that scenario. It was enough to sober anyone up.

Lucius' grey eyes were sharp, uncaring, and mean. "If you are trying to become best friends, Snape, you are sadly mistaken."

His best friend was a cat, and he was quite content to keep it that way. "No, Lucius. Goodbye." He turned and left, without one final look at the man.

His insides had turned soft, and he felt his body shaking as he left the room and went to the top of the stairs, where natural light pored from up above. He leaned against the damp wall, and sank to the floor.

The guard raised her brow. "Something hit too close to home?"

Severus glared up at her. At least he had _thought_ she was paying little attention to their conversation. "A bit."

She opened her mouth to respond, but a shout echoing from the lower half of the tower commanded her response, and she hurried downstairs.

_Ceasing to exist._ That was the divider between Severus' past and current life. After the War ended, his primary purpose for being alive was over. He had to become a slave, because he needed a new reason for living. As he had served two masters – Dumbledore and the Dark Lord - over the course of twenty years, slavery became the logical choice.

Throughout the past two years, Severus had thought that being a slave was an unjust punishment, however ironic. Now, for the first time, it made sense. It hadn't _erased_ his existence like it had other Death Eaters that Severus had long forgotten the names of, but it had effectively given him a new reason to exist.

"Well, what have we here?" A drawl took him out of his thought.

He froze, a chill coming over him to his bones. He could see a shadow looming over him, but did not need to look up to know who it was. As goosebumps rose on his arms, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He could feel the blood draining from his face, and had to blink several times to keep himself from fainting.

"I was told I would find a slave up here, but you ...what a pleasant surprise." The man purred. Calloused hands reached out and caressed Severus' face.

He flinched, and it was then that he noticed that he had forgotten to take several breaths. He forced himself to take a shallow one, and to blink a couple more times.

Though most grown wizards wore robes out, this man had on heavy brown trousers, and heavy work boots that were laced tightly halfway up his calf. The work boots and trousers, Severus would recognize anywhere. Though he remembered the face of the man that wore them, it was not etched in his brain the way the work boots and brown trousers forever would be.

In the back of his mind, he was scolding himself for not displaying the proper respect. Though he could spend time arguing internally about it, he ignored common sense and did what he felt led to do; move to his knees, and murmur, "Master Mering."

* * *

_Remain calm, Severus. You cannot think when you are not calm. _He knew himself well enough know how he operated in certain circumstances, and how to make the best of a bad situation.

"You belong to the prison? What are you, their guard dog?" The man laughed a deep laugh.

The conversation with Lucius hadn't necessarily hit too close to home, but that remark did; in an instant, he saw the dog owned by Master Muller, and had a flood of blocked memories come crashing down on him that he was certain were not from nightmares.

"My M-M-Master and-and I came t-t-t-t-to-" Why they came to the prison was irrelevant, and offering the information was a waste of precious time. There was more important things to offer up, such as, "My Master is one storey below us, due to come up any minute."

He wasn't sure if he had the ability to lie to Master Mering, but in any case, that was the truth. Master was likely pacing the floor, worried about how Severus was fairing during his conversation with Lucius. He was liable to come up long before the allotted ten minutes were up.

"Look at me," Master Mering directed.

_Look at me._ Three simple words that meant a lot to Severus. Those words brought him back to the kind green eyes of his master, green eyes that pulled him out of nightmares, green eyes belonging to a man that would never hurt him. He felt a violation to hear his former master use those words.

He looked up. Nigel Mering's steel blue eyes pierced him, and Severus could not maintain eye contact for more than a millisecond; he quickly looked away.

It occurred to him that Lucius was watching this all play out, and briefly wondered if he might say something to distract Master Mering from him. It might sound as if he were throwing Lucius in front of a Bludger by doing that, but it was not as if he was not headed to Master Mering's, anyhow.

"Hmm." Master MEring spoke before Severus could. "I wonder how well my training has held up. Did you know that no slave I have ever trained has returned to me?"

Vaguely, Severus did remember hearing that. "Yes, Master Mering."

Master Mering waved his hand, so that the laces on his boot fell to the floor. "Tie this."

_You do not have to._ Master had made it clear that Severus was to obey the orders of nobody but himself, and occasionally Master George. That left following orders of others an option, but by no means required, and even discouraged.

Why was it then, that Severus felt like he had no choice but to listen to Master Mering?

His fingers feeling clumsy and numb, he reached for the laces. Fumbling, he did his best to secure them around the hooks, and cross them over one another, until it was time to tie them. He was weak; the boot was tied pathetically lose.

Severus was very aware of the compromising position he was in, on his knees in front of Master Mering. He had spent more than his fair share of his life on his knees servicing both men and women against his will. He had been promised by his master that would never happen again.

_This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare, and you will wake up in Master's bed. You are all right. Close your eyes, and on the count of three, you will wake and find this all a nightmare. One. Two. Thr-_

"_Expelliarmus_!"

* * *

In hindsight, Harry would remember the image of an unconscious Nigel Mering slumped against the wall, dick hanging out, amusing.

He didn't stop to consider it in the moment, however.

Severus was on the floor, in the corner of the landing. He had been pushed into the wall by the impact of Harry's spell, but on the exterior seemed none worse for the wear. His body shook so much that his teeth chattered, and his nose was running; remarkably, however, the man's eyes were dry. Harry brought him into his arms, holding him tight, following instinct. He didn't say anything; he didn't think Severus would be able to hear him.

Thundering footsteps sounded, and four guards showed up on the landing. The situation was easily explained, and it was without much difficulty that Harry was able to bring Severus to his feet, leave the tower, and get into the small boat.

Once set for England, he utilized a cleaning spell on Severus' body as a poor way to remove Mering from him. Harry chose that moment to reveal to Severus that he kept a calming draught on him at all times - Severus took it without protest.

As Severus' shakes began to subside, Harry's only began. Though Severus had shook with fright, anxiety, and stress, Harry shook only with anger.

How dare he. How dare he even speak to Severus. He had no right to look at him, much less touch him. He had yet to get the story in its most coherent version from Severus, but understood enough of it.

What did Mering fail to understand about the words 'not yours'? Severus wasn't classified as human, and therefore people often thought you could treat him in ways you couldn't treat people. Whether Harry liked it or not, it was more or less true. But if he wasn't human, that meant he could be owned, and he was. By Harry. No one touched any of Harry's things without explicit permission, and Severus was only an exception because if you dared ask for permission, you would get hexed into Timbuktu.

As far as Harry was concerned, he was now left with two options; sue Mering for half a million Galleons, or pretend the situation hadn't happened. Suing would create necessary drama, and not fix anything. Furthermore, it would only serve to humiliate Severus in front of a world that would be watching.

Anger. Because Severus had been doing so damn well. He was at the peak of what he might ever be, and Harry was more than okay with that. As far as Severus' stability was concerned, Harry didn't think he could ask for more, all things considered.

And then Mering had to try to prove a point to whomever.

Harry stewed about the day's situation in silence as he picked up Teddy from the babysitter's home, went home with Severus and Teddy, made supper, enforced time-out for Teddy four times, gave permission to Severus to take a bath (if Severus _wanted_ to take a bath, then Harry couldn't imagine how disgusted he felt), and prepared Teddy for bed.

In fact, he was still stewing over it late that night when he walked into his room to prepare for bed. He was pulling his shirt off his body, muttering to himself, and starting for the loo when he noticed that his bed was already occupied.

Dark eyes watched every move he made.

"Severus," Harry didn't know why he was surprised to find Severus occupying half of his bed, "I thought you were asleep in your room already."

"You're not angry with me." Severus disguised his worried question as a statement.

It occurred to Harry that he didn't see Severus make a to-do when Harry entered the room; he must have bowed his head subtly, and then only for a few moments. He let that small victory calm him from his anger some. "No, why would I be?"

Severus moved to lie on his side, head at the foot of the bed. "Master Mering gave me a few orders, and I obeyed. I knew you would not be happy if I complied, but I did anyway."

The idea of stewing further in a very hot shower was slipping from him. He wasn't going to let it - Doctor Brown said that if he didn't stop being so unselfish and start putting himself first on occasion, he was going to find himself in another mess.

He started to unbuckle his belt. "Look, there are certain people in this world that you're always going to have a weakness to. Whether I like it or not, I know that I'm one of them. Weston would be another. We would be deluding ourselves to think that you wouldn't comply with Mering's every whim."

The dark eyes were hard. "I hate him."

Harry didn't understand that. Oh, he understood how Severus could hate Mering. He didn't understand, however, how he could hate Mering, revere Weston, be petrified of Konig, and feel complete apathy towards Müller. It made absolutely no sense, and was a reason why Harry preferred to communicate in terms of thoughts rather than feelings. "I know you do, but that doesn't mean you don't fear him. And by 'fear', I mean being afraid, and fear-induced respect." Harry set his belt aside, and moved to sit at the foot of the bed for a moment. "I haven't spoken to you much this afternoon, because I've been so angry at Mering. Not because I'm angry with you. You're incredible, Severus. I haven't been through the terrible stuff you have, and experiencing what you have today would have made me bawl like a baby; you didn't even cry."

He reached to stroke back Severus' hair, but the man flinched away.

Guilt plagued Harry. "What? Did I do something wrong? Was I not supposed to-"

"-no." Severus said in a low voice. "No, you did not do something wrong. It is just- Master?"

"What?"

Severus exhaled deeply. "This has been a very confusing day for me."

If there was ever a day to grant Severus a free pass to abnormal behaviour, today was the day. "That's all right. Take your time. It's going to take some time for you to recover. If you want to make an emergency appointment with Doctor Brown tomorrow-"

"-no." Severus moved back to the head of the bed and began to bury himself under the covers. "No. I will be all right. I just need time to think."

Harry slipped out of his trousers, and padded towards the bathroom. "About Mering?"

"No."

Once Severus might have felt obligated to divulge more information. However, as things currently stood, he didn't, and Harry didn't pry.

Though he wasn't paranoid enough to pry, it didn't stop him from considering leaving the bathroom door open a crack, just so he could keep an eye on Severus.

_**...Coming Up Next In **_**Unwell****_..._**

_**...Chapter Eighty-Six: A Poorly Rationalised Debate**_


	86. A Poorly Rationalised Debate

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._

**Chapter Eighty-Six  
"****A Poorly Rationalised Debate**"

* * *

Severus had grown comfortable with many things during past several years. He had grown comfortable kneeling on the floor, and having his head stroked. Only a short while ago, many had thought it impossible that he could ever bathe without having a panic attack. Now he no longer required supervision around water. Despite the man he was before his enslavement, despite what he had suffered at the hands of other owners, he was comfortable around his master, whether curled at his feet in submission or walking at his side. Taking care of Teddy felt natural, although it shouldn't have because he had never liked or felt comfortable around children.

There was one thing he was certain to never get used to; a noisy supper table. The Weasley family had no notions of a peaceful supper. To them, a meal was not complete without the clattering of flatware against dishes, inane questions about one's day, and at least two spilled glasses of water. Whenever at the Weasleys for supper, he felt self-conscious, as if everyone was secretly watching him eat out of the corners of their eyes. While he would never dream of volunteering to eat at his master's feet in their home, he almost wanted to at the Weasley's. It somehow felt more appropriate, more comfortable.

"Harry, will you pass the peas?" Ginny asked from down the table.

It made no sense for her to ask Master. Though the bowl of peas were situated betweenSeverus and Master, Ginny sat close to Severus. Why didn't she ask him? Was she worried that if she asked Severus he would feel obligated? Was she trying to avoid sounding like she was giving an order?

Severus watched the passing of the bowl without a word.

It was Master's idea to start spending more time with the Weasley family. He said that they didn't spend enough time together, and that they were the only family they had. The Weasley family, plus Hermione, Teddy, Master, and Severus, had begun to meet for meals once a week or so. The results had been good for Master and Teddy, for he could see how the flourished under the love of the family.

He just wished they could see how uncomfortable he was, and let him stay home.

"George, how is it going at the shop?" Arthur asked.

"Great, Dad." Master George answered, mouth full of cornbread. "Severus had an idea that other day that I think is gonna work really well. It's for a project Fred and I were stuck on for ages."

"Oh? Which project?" Arthur asked.

Master George paused. "Oh, just one that makes certain body parts grow, or temporarily enlarge."

Ginny choked. "Good God, George."

The young man had the grace to redden. "I was talking about ears! We thought we could- get your mind out of the gutter, woman."

Severus had been working in Master George's shop four days a week, for the past three months. He spent most of the time in the back, researching different ideas Master George had for devices and potions. Not only did he bring fresh ideas of how to make things work, but he knew where certain obscure ingredients could be found and ordered for low cost. Since working for Master George, he had figured out how to bring six prototypes to life, that otherwise may have never seen the light of day. One was due to hit the shelves in a week.

He enjoyed the work. At first it had been difficult, trying to access a part of his brain that he had not used for a very long time. Quickly, however, it became second nature. Frequently he took his work home during weekends, or in the evenings to tinker late into the night. He had to be careful not to let dangerous ingredients or explosives into their home though, because Teddy was still such a young child.

"How did working up front go the other day?" George changed the subject, looking at Severus.

Recently, one of Master George's employees had called off work. As Master George was in the middle of half a dozen petty lawsuits – one of the problems of owning a business that sold explosives to young children – he had to leave for court. He had put Severus in charge of selling and stocking products for the day, despite reservations.

Severus hated being the centre of attention, yet so many eyes were on him. "It went well," he simply said.

He spent time staring at his plate, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Master's breath unexpectedly tickled his ear. "Aren't you hungry? You've been stirring around the food on your plate for twenty minutes."

It wasn't who he had been conditioned to be to ignore an opportunity to eat. It was just so difficult to eat around so many people. "I've lost my appetite."

Master dropped his hand, and squeezed Severus' hand from underneath the table. "You're going to be okay here for the weekend?"

Master, Severus, and Teddy were planning on spending the night. The next day, Master would leave with the Aurors to a very big conference, leaving Severus and Teddy alone with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Severus disagreed very strongly with the arrangements. He was perfectly capable of staying home and taking care of Teddy by himself. The fact that Master hadn't even considered it irked him. "I will be fine."

* * *

The front porch swing creaked every time it swung forward. The rest of the house was asleep, but Severus was unable to. When at home and unable to sleep, he had the freedom to go downstairs and read, make something in the kitchen, or crawl into Master's bed. He was fairly certain the Weasleys would not appreciate him making soufflé at two in the morning.

The door opened, and Master stepped out in his dressing gown. He didn't wear his glasses, and had to squint to see Severus in the bright yellow lamplight. "What are you doing awake?"

"I rarely sleep." Severus pointed out, inclining his head in greeting. "A better question to ask would be, why are you awake, Master?"

Master chuckled. He joined Severus on the porch swing. "Teddy crawled out of his cot in the night, and got into my bed. He fell asleep and started to take up the whole bed, so I was going to crawl into bed with you, and saw that you were gone."

It was remarkable how such a tiny child could take up so much space on a mattress. "Why did you not pick him up, and place him back on the cot?"

"I didn't think of that." Master admitted.

"Evidentially." Severus focused on his feet. "I am well; you can sleep in my bed. You need your rest for tomorrow."

"I have an entire series of seminars to sleep through the next couple days. I am sure I'll make up for it." Master took Severus' cold hand into his. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Since visiting Lucius Malfoy in prison, Severus' nightmares had become something entirely different from they were before. They were darker, and occurring more frequently. It wasn't uncommon for him to become so preoccupied with thoughts of Mering that he couldn't sleep.

"You know, we can put your thoughts in a vial, too. Remember how that helped me sleep at night? I don't want you to develop a dependence on potions, too." Master's problems with sleeping and nightmares had been terrible before they had found the solution. No doubt he feared Severus developing the same problem.

"I am not afraid." Severus sighed. "I am just thinking."

"You're never just thinking." Master replied.

"Better to never _just_ think than to never think at all." Severus looked sideways at him.

"You wound me." Master ran his fingers lightly over Severus' forehead. "What are you not _just_ thinking about?"

Severus was never free to tell Master a lie, even a small one. Sometimes days could go by while they pretended they had a normal relationship, but something such as this would inevitably pop up. A situation where Severus would normally be inclined to lie, but couldn't.

"Your not thinking at all." He watched the moths cluster around the light on the porch. Once his mind would have connected their attraction to the light as a desire for warmth, and he would have been very jealous that they had it. Now, he saw it as simple phototaxis.

Master was right. He never did simply think. He over-thought everything.

Master sighed. "You've never liked me doing that. Or, you know, not doing that. I know that's why you think I'm big-headed. Not because I don't care about other people, but because I never think of how my actions affect people."

A battle began in Severus' brain. One part of him was very inclined to agree with Master, or even argue that Master was mildly arrogant. The other part of him begged to disagree, and ask for forgiveness for the difference of opinion.

Master knew better than to stay quiet during moments like these. If he didn't speak, neither of them would. "What did I fail to think about? And don't say 'oh, where do I begin'."

Severus felt the corners of his mouth pull, and had to force himself not to smile. "Why must I stay at the Burrow this weekend?"

"Um, because I'm going away? We left Gik plenty of food and water. She'll be fine if that's what you're worried about."

"Once again, you have succeeded in entirely missing the point." Severus' words were biting. His forehead began to burn ever so slightly, but he was becoming skilled at ignoring it. "I am hardly worried about the cat."

"Oh." Master bit his lip, seeming no more than a chastised school boy.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Master, do you think I am not capable of managing alone while you are away?"

"Well-" Master stopped to choose his words carefully. "I think you probably are. I mean, I'm pretty sure you'd do fantastic. But there's that bit between "pretty sure" and 'sure' that I'm worried about."

If Master ever bothered to approach overthinking things, he would be able to see how poorly rationalized that argument was. "That is like saying one should never cross the street, on the off chance that they might get hit by a bus."

"It is not." Master argued. "I let you cross the street all the time."

Now that Severus had gotten started, he was not ready to slow down. "Not wanting Teddy to stay alone with me, I could see a bit of logic to. I have proven capable of caring for him every weekday afternoon for the past year, however three days is quite a stretch. I could understand wanting someone to check on us once or twice a day, or even having Teddy stay here with Arthur and Molly. I see absolutely no reason to require my being treated like your toddler."

"Sorry." Master was quiet. "I just- I ...God, I forgot how scary you could be when you're angry."

_Go to him. Bury your head in his lap and apologise. Beg for his forgiveness. Make everything all right. _"I am angry."

"Look, you can go home in the morning, if you want. I'm not going to make you stay here if you're unhappy. Teddy though, Teddy should stay here."

"Because his grandparents would be disappointed that they wouldn't have the weekend to spend with him." Feeling briefly sorry for the predicament he put his master in, he let him have an easy out.

Master sighed. "Exactly. Um, you're sure you'll be okay home alone? For three days? I'll be back Sunday night. Maybe I can get out of the last day of the conference, and come back late Saturday night. Or-"

"Master, though this is business, it is also something of a holiday. I am not going to spoil it to have you come home early, or worry about me the entire time." That would be inevitable. If Severus was going to stay home by himself, with or without Teddy, Master would worry every second of his weekend. Severus, as much as he had over-thought the situation, had not considered that aspect.

He was suddenly sorry he had said anything.

"It isn't something of a holiday," Master argued. "Have you seen the itinerary?"

Severus had briefly laid eyes on it. "It appears that between group discussions and seminars, you will have plenty of time to sight-see, relax in your five-star resort, and enjoy fine dining. Yes, I would consider that a holiday."

Master was quiet. "You don't get to go on holiday."

That was a given. "This is the Auror Training Programme. I am not an Auror trainee. I've little interest in the topic of conversation, anyhow." Experts in defence were coming together to speak about their experiences as Aurors and defenders of their countries. Severus had lived the ultimate defensive experience, and had no interest in hearing about the experience of others.

"That's not what I mean. I have the option of going on holiday. I can take time off work, and go to Aruba or something. You can't. You're a slave. You're always stuck having to think about someone else, serving someone else, being dependent on someone else. All the time."

"That is hardly newsworthy to me, Master. However, it doesn't sadden me. I didn't go on holiday when I had the opportunities many years ago. There would be no reason to take advantage of it now."

Master shook his head, almost mournfully. "People are supposed to enjoy life when they get old."

Severus was born old. Still, he didn't appreciate the accusation. "Thank you, Master."

"You're welcome." Master said in such a way that Severus could not tell if he understood his sarcasm or not.

They swung back and forth in silence. Severus, having relieved his mind of his pressing thoughts, mindlessly watched the moths. He had nothing to say, and even if he did, would be hesitant to interrupt Master's rare moment of deep thinking.

"Any chance you'd want to come with me?" Master broke the silence.

The offer stunned Severus. He wanted to make sure he understood it properly. "Upstairs to bed? If you would like."

"No, to the conference." Master clarified.

As Severus had suspected. "As I just said, I am not an Auror trainee."

"You are an expert of defence, and a war hero. They would probably let you in. I could get you a special pass or- or not." Master suddenly grew quiet.

Even if Severus had a keen interest on hearing the conversation, he wouldn't be able to get a seat in the auditorium. Not because of how full it would be, but because of the faint marks, only shades lighter than his natural skin tone, adorning his forehead.

"You could still come with me." Master said. "Like you said, there is a reasonable amount of free time in the itinerary. We could, what did you say? Sight-see, fine dining, and relax in the hotel?"

Severus blinked. "I am sorry, Master. The amount of stupidity in that statement was so great, my neurons had trouble-"

"-it's not stupid." Master argued. "Lots of the guys are bringing their wives or girlfriends. Or boyfriend, in the case of a few on our team. I don't have a boyfriend, so I was going to go solo, but you could come."

"Slave hardly equates 'boyfriend'." Severus chose to tread carefully, as the topic of significant others had gotten them into more than one debate.

"They don't have to know you're my slave. It's a very accepting hotel, anyway."

"Master, when people say 'accepting' they refer to race, religion, or sexuality. This is more of an issue of species." Severus felt like he was explaining elementary concepts.

Master was stubborn. "The hotel serves both Muggles and wizards. And they allow pets. You coming will absolutely not being an issue."

_Of course, in that case. Since they allow pets, why wouldn't they allow slaves? _In some circumstances of Severus' life, he proved to be exactly the same thing. He gritted his teeth. "Master, you are only asking for a situation that will be uncomfortable for us both. Your comrades will ask about me, and at best give you a hard time about your relationship with me. There is only one reason to bring your slave with you to a hotel."

"I'm not bringing you as my slave. I'm bringing you as my- Severus." Master argued. "And to hell with them. They won't even think that, though, because they don't know I'm gay."

That was a lie. Members of the programme had suspected Master was gay before many of his closest friends.

"As your slave in a public place, I will feel compelled to behave as such. We will not have the freedom to pretend we are anywhere near equals. In the company of the Weasley family, it is all right for me, within reason, to not kneel at your feet or to call you an idiot. In Wizarding public, I must be the perfect picture of a slave. Not only because I am required to, but because of how my behaviour reflects on you."

It was a perfectly well-reasoned argument, but Master was one to ignore reason whenever possible. "I think your normal behaviour reflects on me the way I wish to be reflected on. And the hotel contains Muggles, therefore it isn't 'Wizarding public'. You will be required to act like a normal person, so to not draw attention to us."

Severus sighed. "It is not considered unprofessional to bring your wife on an out-of-country business trip. It will be considered unprofessional to bring your slave. Your supervisors mightn't allow it."

Master smiled. "You let me take care of them."

And just like that, Severus' hopes for a quiet weekend home alone – the only version of a holiday he was likely to ever get – evaporated. "You are going to force me to enjoy myself, aren't you?"

"Hey, if I'm stuck going on this trip, you are too. I'm kind of like a Dementor; I'm going to be miserable, so I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you're miserable, too."

How thoughtful.

**Coming Up Next In _Unwell_...**

**..._Chapter Eighty-Seven: Plato's Cave_**

**_A/N: Thanks everyone, for caring, and for your unconditional support. Your kind support made my day, and made the ultimate birthday gift, as yesterday was my birthday! Thank you so much, again._**


	87. Plato's Cave

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own "Harry Potter" or any characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._

**Chapter Eighty-Seven  
"Plato's Cave"**

* * *

By his own admission, Severus had not led a very exciting life in terms of travel. He grew up in Manchester, went to school in Scotland, and had made small trips to Wales during his life. Mrs. Weston had taken him to Italy twice so he could carry her purchases. He had spent time in France and Germany, but the time spent there hadn't mattered, as hotel rooms and basements were universal, regardless of which country one was in.

The trunk Severus had packed was light. He had packed a few carefully pressed shirts and trousers for Master, as well as some robes. He packed even less for himself, knowing that he wasn't going to get out much. He debated on whether or not to dress poorly so to reflect his status, or whether to bring clothes that would reflect Master's status. When he voiced his concerns to Master, he received a puzzled look.

Obviously it was something he was over-thinking.

Apparating great distances was a challenge. It was exhausting, and required careful planning. Master had suggested Apparating to London, and then taking the Eurostar train to Paris. Severus had never taken the Muggle-operated train, and had assumed it was used mainly as a novelty for tourists. When he realized that it involved a long tunnel underneath the English channel, he had only four words for Master; "over my dead body."

"I feel sick." Master leaned against Severus as they stood in the Paris streets.

Severus scraped the dog waste from his shoe. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Nah. The hotel's right there. I told you I had the coordinates right." Master pointed towards the building.

It was a large white building, and seemed to be very old. There were many large windows, some with balconies, providing a great view to the City of Lights.

Severus' stomach turned. "How convenient."

"Yeah, I think that's the point." Master grasped Severus' hand, and pulled him towards the lobby. "The place where the conference is being held is right down the street. I'll be able to walk back and forth so fast, so we can spend as much time together as possible."

That was hardly Severus' point. Usually Master was adept at picking up sarcastic tones. This would be one of those times where he failed completely. In any case, Severus was hardly going to burden the man with his worries.

_Out of all the hotels in Paris, _he thought to himself as Master went to the front desk to check in. It should have occurred to him when it was stated that the hotel was one of the best for business travellers in Paris. It should have occurred to him that by going to this particular city, despite its vast size, he would place himself in close proximity to where one of his worst memories happened.

A uniformed man approached Severus, and communicated that he wanted to take their trunk to their room.

"No, thank you." Severus answered in man's language.

The man insisted on it, with stubbornness that nearly outweighed Severus'. Nearly.

"Severus, give the bellboy the trunk." Master ordered, coming over to smooth the situation. He waited for the bellboy to walk away with the trunk to say, "Severus, not to sound crass, but that's his job."

"It's my job to serve you. It's not his job to serve me." Severus watched the bellboy with narrow eyes.

Master stared at Severus. "You're insulted by the bellboy doing something nice."

It wouldn't be easy to explain to Master how the man doing his job made Severus a fraud. It was yet another thing he would have to let go to insure Master enjoyed himself. "Did you get our room key?"

Master handed Severus a plastic card. "They gave us two. Keep this in case I get us locked out."

Severus tucked it into his breast pocket. The likelihood of Master locking himself out of the hotel room was a great possibility. At least he would have one responsibility to keep himself occupied.

* * *

"Jesus!" Master stared with awe at the room. "The bed is huge!"

Severus frowned. "Look at that. The bed takes up the whole room."

The covers on the bed were identical to the covers of another bed he had become well acquainted with two years prior. He wondered if they were the same ones. He peered out the window, grateful that it had a different view than the one the last time he had stayed in the hotel.

"A telly!" Master gleefully said. "Man, I haven't gotten to operate one of these in ages, since I was fifteen and trying to watch the news to see if-" he frowned, and looked down at the remote. "The batteries are flat."

"Pity." Severus wrapped his arms around himself. "How quickly do you have to meet your party?"

Master checked his watch. "Half an hour. We're going to meet at the restaurant on the ground floor. Would you like to come?"

He couldn't think of many things more heinous than joining the Auror trainees for supper. "Must I?"

"I'd like you to." Master looked in the mirror, and scrubbed at his neck to see if he needed to shower. He cast a cleaning charm on his body instead.

Severus noticed with annoyance that the ever-so-competent bellboy had failed to bring up their trunk before they made it upstairs. He wouldn't be able to use unpacking their luggage as an argument as to why he should stay. "I'd rather not."

"Severus, I'm not an idiot. I know, you would beg to differ." Master kept looking in the mirror, but his eyes were on Severus. "For months, I could have made a career out of stalking you. I know the name of the hotel that has less than pleasant memories for you."

Master had known all along? Severus felt a sense of betrayal. "And yet you still invited me to come?"

"That wasn't on my mind when I asked you." He admitted. "Look, from what you've told me, that last time you were here you were locked up in a hotel room for days."

"It was a suite." Severus corrected.

His correction went ignored. "Let's make this time better, all right? Please don't work against me on this."

_Please don't work against me on this. _That wasn't an order. That was a plea. Master was trying to make Severus' life as full as possible, and all Severus did was resist. Evoked by many thoughts in that vein, he reluctantly agreed. "Only if you let me track down that damned bellboy so that you can change into some clean clothes. You needn't go to supper with your colleagues looking like you've been sleeping in your clothes."

Master frowned, looking down his front. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Perhaps it was a good thing Master asked Severus to go along. When it came to their relationship, such emphasis was placed on Severus' need for Master. However, Master needed Severus just as much. While Master was the light of Severus life, Master needed a light too, to keep him from tripping over something in the dark.

* * *

"Mr. Potter, I'm so glad you could make it." An older gentleman, dressed to the nines in Muggle-wear, greeted Master.

Severus took this opportunity to scan the restaurant. It was carpeted, meaning it would be a comfortable place to kneel. The tablecloths were made of white cloth, and the wine glasses sparkled underneath the expensive chandeliers. Nearly every seat at the table was occupied by strong Auror trainees, notably the fastest and strongest Great Britain had to offer, as well as their spouses and significant others. They were in a private room, closed off from the rest of the restaurant, so there was only one exit.

Only one exit meant a fire hazard for Muggles, but it was a very scary thing when you were with Harry Potter and Severus Snape, who trouble seemed to follow. He did not approve.

"Severus, this is Mr. Ripley. He's Head of the Auror Training Programme. Second-in-command only to Kings- Mr. Shacklebolt." Master introduced Severus to the gentleman.

His cold hands were sweaty, and hardly ideal for a handshake. He had not shaken hands with anyone in a long time, yet here he was expected to act like a normal person. Y_ou cannot shake his hand. You are a slave. To shake his hand would be to falsify who you are, to degrade him on such a level that-_

The moment for handshaking passed, and as Mr. Ripley displayed no intentions of doing so, the worry was irrelevant. "Glad to know you, Severus. Please, be seated."

Master pulled out the chair at the place setting marked 'H. Potter', looked at the place set next to it, and frowned.

Severus loved his master, and not only because he was required to. His naïveté was something to be cherished, but that did not mean it did not grow tiresome.

Master took Severus by the elbow, and whispered in his ear. "Um, Mr. Ripley was okay with me bringing you, but I think maybe telling him you were a slave was a mistake."

It was absolutely not a mistake. Mr. Ripley seemed to be a friendly, reasonable, and knowledgeable man. Despite whatever his views on slavery were, they were in a fine restaurant in Wizarding public. Therefore, they were required to follow the admittedly ancient and inconvenient protocol.

Master entertained ideas of Severus' status as, while being an inconvenience, hardly noticeable. That would be ideal, however, it was not the way their world worked. Severus enjoyed what freedom he was allowed, but there were times when he needed to behave like the slave he was. In an expensive restaurant, in a room closed off to Muggles, surrounded by Aurors-in-training and their families, with china worth more than Severus, it would be one of those times. Severus had known from the moment Master asked him to come along for supper that it would be.

"Master, to make a fuss would be unprofessional." He cautioned, whispering in the young man's ear.

He nodded. "Do you want to go back up to the room?"

As much as Master and Severus both desired to pretend they were equals, they were in reality far from it. To exercise that reality was just as important as playing in their fantasy. If anything, it would help their relationship grow stronger. "We have gotten this far. Let us see it out." Severus squeezed Master's shoulder.

Master began to nervously fidget. "I, um, don't know what to do. I remember reading books, but that was a long time ago, and-"

"-I trust you." Severus pulled out Master's chair, and waited.

Awkwardly, Master sat down. His face was pink as he watched Severus kneel to his side. Whether the embarrassment was over who he thought was watching, or empathetic embarrassment for Severus, he didn't care. Severus had long ago become immune to humiliation, and as much as he wanted to spare his master from the same, the man would just have to grow used to it.

There were rules regarding slaves and masters, and often they were the most meticulous. They contradicted each other at times. They varied by culture, making them even more difficult to understand. More often than not, the etiquette required quite a bit of effort on the owner's part, rendering the practise of owning slaves almost redundant. They were annoying and trivial, numbered well into the hundreds, yet Severus knew them all.

Severus' hand found its way to his Master's lap. He squeezed his hand encouragingly. "No one is paying a bit of attention," he said in a low voice, not sure if his master could hear over the chatter and clinking of ice against glass. "There is no need to be self-conscious."

"Doing this goes against my beliefs." Master said almost guiltily. "It was different when you were sick, and knelt because you didn't know better."

That was understandable. "This isn't what the problem is. Owning me is the root problem, what really contradicts your beliefs."

"What do I do? Change my beliefs?"

Absolutely not. Master's beliefs were what kept Severus safe, and were highly valued by him for that reason. He slipped his hand from Master's. "Live in guilt."

Severus remained quiet, listening to the conversation amongst the Auror trainees. The stories they exchanged were surprisingly quite fascinating. Though Severus lived with someone in the Auror training programme, he had never thought to ask about it in depth. It was enchanting to hear about the defence strategies Aurors employed, and the mock raids, battles, and crime scenes that they used to train.

"I don't understand," a young blonde asked in a nasally voice, as she peered over the next day's itinerary. She had to be an Auror trainee's plus-one, as she clearly did not possess the wit to join the programme. "I've read that the War didn't even really happen. Why on earth would we go to a seminar about a hoax?"

The silence in the room was palpable. Severus personally wanted to rip out the woman's trachea for bringing those rumours up, but it was not his place to do so. He was not even allowed to join the conversation at the table, which was probably a good thing. His master might be able to live down the embarrassment of having Severus kneel at his side in public, but he would never live down the remarks Severus would make about the woman's intelligence quotient.

All eyes were suddenly on Master, who calmly reached for his glass of water. "Miss? With all due respect, please shut up."

Slowly, Master seemed to grow more comfortable with their seating arrangements. He loosened up, beginning to participate in the conversation. When the servers began to come around, taking orders for the meal courses, he let Severus order for him, which was wise. He had been embarrassed enough for one night without butchering the French language.

* * *

Master stepped out of the loo, towelling his hair so that it stuck in at least sixty different directions. He was not at all conscious of the open drapes, despite wearing nothing but his shorts. "God, Severus. I really am sorry."

They had left the restaurant early, despite being encouraged to linger. They had ordered room service for Severus, and devoured half a bottle of cheap Firewhiskey. All the while, Master apologised for what he "put Severus through". He didn't seem content with the response that supper had not bothered Severus in the slightest.

"When I suggested that you live with guilt, I wasn't expecting you to be so vocal about it." Severus was stretched out on his side of the bed. "I am not sure I want to live with the way you live with guilt. Is there any chance you could leave me here when you leave Sunday?"

Master pulled a cotton shirt over his head before crawling into the bed. "Sunday is only the day after tomorrow, but it feels so far off. Is it bad that I really really don't want to go tomorrow."

"Terrible. You should be ashamed of yourself." The more Severus heard about the seminars Master was mandated to attend, the happier he was to not go himself. Heads of national security could be extremely cocky, and sitting through speeches made by arrogant people would be miserable for anyone. Harry Potter, "the-Saviour-Of-Us-All", would experience the most suffering.

Master's green eyes lit up. "I have an idea. Let's go buy some Polyjuice off the black market. You can go in my place, and I can spend tomorrow relaxing by the pool."

Severus removed Master's glasses, and levitated them to the bedside table. "Your plan is flawed. The markings on my forehead cannot be disguised, even with Polyjuice. While they are faint and hardly noticeable to those not looking for them, everyone looks at your forehead."

Apparently those were not the words Master wanted to hear. "Are you trying to suck away all my hopes and dreams?"

"It is what I do best." Severus retorted, settling down underneath the covers.

For a few moments, Master was quiet. He reached out a fingertip, and began to trace the markings on Severus forehead. He was careful to not actually touch. "Why does it look nice on your forehead now? When you were owned by Muller, there were just a bunch of black squares."

He had never before stopped to consider what his brand looked like when owned by Muller and the Monster, at least not until seeing Lucius Malfoy's brands at Azkaban several months ago. "I haven't a clue. I believe it has to do with magical signatures, and how old the family line is."

"Is this the only time it's ever been what the Ministry calls 'invisible'?" Master asked.

Leave it to Master to ask trivial questions about colours. He had all of Severus' mind at his disposal, filled with so many secrets, experiences, and knowledge. He had an IQ well over average.

And the man asked about colour.

Colour being one of those trivial details, Severus hadn't stored it in his brain like he had so many other important things. "Initially, it was black," he recalled, "when Master Mering owned me. It can be safe to assume the Ministry's mark was also black."

He remembered the 'M' stamped on Lucius Malfoy's head and wondered, not for the first time, where the man had ended up. He hadn't heard, and clearly neither had Master, as the man had promised to relay any information he heard without delay.

He shook his head. "It would be useless for me to try and recall. The Monster and Master Muller are all but a blur to me. Half of what I think happened there are likely figments of my imagination. Master and Mistress Weston... it may have been black, although I seem to recall a rose coloured hue. I remember Master Weston's friend having a servant whose brand was blue, and matched perfectly the interior of the first floor loo."

Master was quiet for a moment. "Some things are better off being forgotten."

While one could argue that point, it was also worth pointing out that perception was reality. If one forgot what they experienced, then the experience never happened. It seemed a shame to suffer through all of that to have it declared fiction.

In a swift movement, Master rolled off his back, straddling Severus' stomach, peering down at Severus' forehead. His weight was heavy on Severus' abdomen, making it difficult for him to contract his diaphragm and breath. Having someone sit on top of him like that caused a bit of a fight or flight response from his brain. Luckily (?), he was conditioned to stay put.

When you were a slave, fight, as well as flight, were not options.

"I know you couldn't have been thinking the nicest thoughts about me tonight." Master began.

"Since we are discussing my potential guilt, I feel inclined to mention that I rarely think the nicest thoughts about you." Only a year ago, he would have never said such a thing to his master. It was disrespectful, and simply not true. The guilt would have trigged a reaction, causing his head to burn. Now, he knew Master appreciated such comments, finding wit and teasing more comfortable than stiff obedience.

Master ignored his comment. "Do you need something for the pain?"

The only thing that would reduce the pain of Severus' brand would be a touch of his master's hand. Master had begun to refer to it in an abstract way, as if he were suggesting Severus take a tablet.

If Severus had it his way, he would much prefer to swallow a bottle of tablets than have Master touch his forehead. Pride was a strange thing. After so many years of degradation, of humiliation, of being owned by another person, and his pride still had yet to go extinct. Pride was perhaps the most resilient part of human nature.

Severus exhaled deeply. "It is well under control."

"Hm." Master didn't move, staring intently at Severus.

Severus stared at Master staring at him. Master's emotions were unreadable, his eyes finding no clues as to what he might be thinking. His nostrils were not flared, his lips not tightened, nor curved into a smile. He noticed shadow growing on his chin, stubble he could imagine would feel scratchy against his skin.

Severus jerked. What was he thinking? How had he let his thoughts get that out of control? He could feel his insides beginning to knot. Blood rushed to his head, as well as other parts of his body.

It took barely a second for Master to leap off of Severus after his twitch. "Christ, Severus. Sorry. I-I-I was j-just-" Master's eyes were wide with horror. He closed his mouth, tried to open it again to speak, but couldn't seem to form any words.

_They thought the Occlumency made you mentally ill. A complete departure from it is making you go insane._ It wasn't until that moment that Severus realised what a value there was in being able to control one's own thoughts. As well as other things.

_Breathe_. He could not control his thoughts, but he could control his reactions. As Severus had mentioned to Master several times before, he had the ability to greatly manipulate the circumstances they found themselves in. Severus' reactions to things could change Master's reaction completely, either detonating or diffusing the situation.

In this case, as well as most others, Severus preferred diffusion.

He let out a nervous chuckle. "Did I frighten you?"

"Frighten?" Master seemed surprised by that suggestion. "N-No. No. I was startled."

Severus raised a brow. "By me, Master?"

"No." Master said, biting his lip. "By me."

Too often, Master and Severus did not see eye-to-eye. Usually that could be explained away by their considerable height difference, but it also had to do with wildly different opinions and experiences. However, in that very moment, Severus was able to say with all honesty, "Welcome to my world, Master."

A nervous chuckle. Master approached the bed. "Um, you don't want me to call down at the front desk and call for extra covers, do you? I could make a nice cot, sleep on the floor. It would be no trouble."

Master was the one wearing naught but his shorts. Severus' erection had quickly subsided, and it was a reasonable assumption to think Master hadn't even noticed that. There was absolutely no reason they couldn't continue with their original sleeping plans. Still...

"I am used to the floor." Severus argued. "You need a good night's rest."

"I'll be resting all day tomorrow, during the seminar." Master reminded him.

Severus would be loafing much of the day as well. He was forbidden by Master to leave the hotel unaccompanied, and had no interest in going anywhere near the hotel's indoor swimming pool. "Master, this debate is going to leave us either both in bed or both lying on the floor. I suggest we call a truce, turn out the lights, and try to sleep."

"Turn out the lights?" Master asked, in a quiet voice as he slipped back into bed. "Are you sure you're comfortable with that?"

Nothing terrible had transpired. Master possessed a great ability to make a mountain out of a molehill. "I am quite sure. Goodnight, Master." Severus lay down flat, and shut his eyes.

After a few moments, he saw the light go out from behind his eyelids. "Goodnight, Severus. I-I love you." Master said quietly.

To respond to that would not be wise. With the long day that they had had, it wouldn't be too far-fetched to pretend he had already fallen asleep, would it? He decided to give it a try, and remain silent.

Unfortunately, pretending to be asleep and actually being asleep were nearly one and the same. He fell into dreamland long before he heard Master's breathing patterns slow down and even out.

* * *

The programme was set in a Scottish fishing village. It was apparently quite popular, with the little icon on the bottom of the screen boasting that the show was in its twelfth series. Severus couldn't see what was so appealing about it that it would air for twelve years. He had only been watching it for a day, and was able to determine that the writers' abilities matched the ability of children entering secondary school.

"Oh, Harold." The woman gasped, before letting him attempt to suck her lips off her mouth.

Severus rubbed his nose. The couple was standing next to a barrel of fish. How could they be aroused with that foul odour penetrating their senses? "He is lying to you, Carolitza. He's the father of your sister's baby."

The lock on the door clicked, and Master entered the room. His robes were wrinkled, and he clearly had stuck to his promise of sleeping through the seminars. "Hey, Sev. What're you watching?"

Severus pressed the red button on the clicker, for which he had obtained new batteries for downstairs. "Nothing."

Master tugged his robes off. "Did you get something to eat today?"

Of course he had. He had gone down to the kitchens to make his request. The hotel staff had not been too happy about his appearance, nor were they understanding of his explanation about his status. The hotel manager hadn't been, either. "I did."

"God, the way they eat here is intense. It's a huge ordeal. It's not like you can just grab a sandwich and eat while you do something else. You have to sit at a table, and chew your food, and everything." Master slipped into Muggle attire. "They allotted an hour and a half for lunch. I wanted to spend it with you, maybe going somewhere for food, but I had to eat it there. Our group was done eating long before anyone else, but we still had to sit at the table and wait."

French dining was completely different than British dining, but explaining that to Master wouldn't do much good. He wouldn't understand, and the knowledge wouldn't stick in his brain long enough to make too much of an impact. "What are we going to do?"

"Are you changing the subject?" Master vainly attempted to flatten his hair.

"I am, indeed. The matter at hand was of little interest to me, so I had to make my own way." It was with a little reluctance that Severus pulled himself out of the bed. It was remarkable how a day spent doing nothing could be exhausting. He had not spent a day doing absolutely nothing in years. He had no intentions of doing it ever again. It was absolutely maddening.

"Are you trying to offend me?" Master raised a brow. "Cause if you are, it didn't work."

Damn. "Then I am obviously not trying hard enough."

Master smiled. "I have spent all day cooped up, too. I figured we could go for a walk. I don't really know what there is to see or do. I'm not ones for shops unless I need something, and I don't. Museums are probably closed, and I have no interest in artefacts, anyway."

Cultural experiences were a complete waste on the current generation. Severus' faith in humanity dropped more by the day. "A walk sounds nice."

Paris had a reputation for being a beautiful city. Croissants, the Eiffel Tower, and the capitol of fashion. The only interest Severus had in any of that were the baked goods, and from his limited experience thus far, they didn't really taste any different than the ones at home.

Master rubbed at his nose. "It kind of stinks here."

"It's the tube," Severus explained. "It is made differently than ours." He didn't have an extensive knowledge of the city, but he knew that much.

A large group of students led by bewildered teachers herded into them, and Severus latched onto Master's hand to keep the man from getting swept away in the crowd.

"Is there anything you want to do?" Master wanted to know. "Sorry, I said all the things that didn't interest me, and I forgot that this is your holiday, too."

Severus' holiday would have been staying home alone. Master was projecting his idea of a holiday onto him. That alone made the trip not a holiday, but a task to make sure Master was kept happy. "I am content to get out of that hotel room."

"But you're finally here. You've spent hours studying French." Master reasoned. "You should do something fun."

Hours was a grand understatement. For months, Severus had done little but pore over thick textbooks, using whatever resources he had to learn the language. "I had only done that to avoid getting put into a situation of complete helplessness again." He explained. "If I am ever owned by French-speakers again, I will never be at a disadvantage by not knowing what they are saying."

Master's grip tightened. "Well, I don't speak French. I think you're safe."

He tried to believe Master, but experience had taught him otherwise. He needed to prepare for the possibility Master was wrong.

"Why do you do that?" Master asked. They paused on the stone bridge over the Seine, much to the disdain of the people who were using it to actually get somewhere. "Why do you always go back to the negative?"

The water was an peculiar shade of green. It didn't have a rotten smell to it, like Severus had expected. "Because the things you deem as negative are what I am comfortable with. Eating meals with the Weasley clan and criticizing your hair makes me uncomfortable. I do it because I know I should, because it makes you happy, because it is best for me."

Unconsciously, Master began to flatten his hair at the mention of it. "But you will be comfortable with these things again. Someday. You just need to practise more."

That, Severus wasn't so sure of. "Master, have you ever heard of Plato?"

"He invented Calculus, right?"

So near, and yet so far. Severus shook his head. "There are a couple attributed inventors, but neither of them are Plato. He goes back much further. He was a philosopher, and had many different theories about a variety of things."

"Oh." Master said. "Wait, are you changing the subject again? You can't manipulate me like that."

"Master, I never manipulate you. I am simply an expert in the art of misdirection." He re-grasped his hand before continuing on their way. "I am not trying to change the subject. Plato attempted to illustrate a point by describing a scenario where a group of prisoners were chained in a cave. They were unable to move, and spent their entire lives watching shadows on a wall."

He looked down at Master to make sure he was listening before continuing. "He then went on to describe what would happen if one of the prisoners escaped. It would take a lot of convincing, but soon that prisoner would realise that the world he lived in was a lie. It doesn't consist solely of shadows like he had always believed."

"I see." Master said. "I think."

Leave it to Master to draw a conclusion before the story had. "I am not finished. He goes back to the cave, and expresses to the other prisoners what he saw outside. He explained to them that the world doesn't consist of shadows."

"And started a revolution?"

"No. They laughed at him." Severus said. "There are many morals one can take away from that story, apart from its original purpose. It is an accurate description of staying in one's comfort zone, despite knowledge that edging out of it would be better."

They walked in quiet for a few moments. Neither one of them spent the time taking in the fantastic sights of the city, but spent time thinking of what Severus had just said. It occurred to Severus that they could have done that at home in Devon, but then again, at home they couldn't often get quiet time away from Teddy. At home, thinking was becoming a lost art.

Master ignored a person trying to pass out pamphlets, advertising something or another. "So as bad as the things Mering did to you were, living that way is your comfort zone?"

When you were that low, there was nowhere else to fall. When you were not responsible for any decisions, you couldn't make an error. If you trusted your owner to take care of things, there was a certain freedom in being able to let them do so. "I don't desire to be hurt, or to be afraid. That said, I am far more comfortable at your feet than standing over you, reprimanding you for something foolish." It occurred to him that for Master, both were likely equally uncomfortable, though if one had to win, it would likely be Severus' submissive behaviour. He was used to Severus' glares, after all.

They had found themselves in a small park. In the twilight, it was filled with dog walkers and lovers. It was likely much quieter than it was during the day. They seated themselves on a bench, coated with peeling green paint.

Master didn't let go of Severus' hand. "But that will change, don't you reckon? What you're saying is, you are _used_ to being yelled at, kicked, and starved. You have stopped thinking I'm going to do that to you, but you could still go back to that way of living without any trouble."

The man, in a rare moment of wit, had hit the nail on the head. "Yes. I know it sounds incredible. It is not that I would prefer to live that way. It is simply easier, in a strange way."

The street lamps were illuminated, and insects clustered around them. They were in a different country, hundreds of miles from home, yet some things would always be the same.

"I know you're trying hard. You want to be used to being loved and cared for, don't you? It will take a long time, but don't you think that someday you could get used to this?" Master wanted to know. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable about people caring about you."

Master's fingers entwined with his, on a cool night that was relatively quiet considering that they were in such a large city. There was no work to catch up on, nothing that needed done, no little boys that needed chased back to bed. It was the epitome of relaxation. "Actually, I could get used to this a little too easily."

Master smiled. His breath smelled foul - apparently he had eaten something quite strong for lunch. His green eyes appeared brighter than ever underneath the lamplight. "This is nice."

"Nice" didn't began to cover it. There was a security in holding his hand, and it brought out a fierceness in him that no one could separate the two of them. There were very few people who had such an emotional connection to him that they held his hand, so it reminded Severus of the trust he had in the man, in so many different ways. Master holding his hand was a sign of acceptance. He wasn't afraid to be seen with him, to behave like no one of his status ever should with someone of Severus'. It gave Severus hope that someday, maybe everything would be better. Not perfect, just better than the future he had long ago resigned himself to. Having his hand clasped in his gave him a sense of inexplicable joy that he would be reluctant to describe to anyone else. Not because of privacy, but because he couldn't. How could you explain to anyone how, regardless of where you were or where you were to go, a person's hand could make you feel at home?

"Severus?" Master said in a whisper. It wasn't just a whisper he could hear, but feel.

He turned his head slightly, as to face him. Though the natural lighting was dim, the lamplight above them illuminated his features. His wide eyes were dilated, and there were beads of sweat above his lip. He took a wavering breath, and licked his lips.

Blood began to pound in Severus' ears. Just because a slave didn't have a choice to fight or flee did not mean the response couldn't be there. He felt his heartbeat quicken, and felt a bit dizzy. Their hands had became shared holders of sweat, as they leaned towards each other.

"_Va te faire foutre, trouduc_!" A woman screeched, slapping a handsome man in the face before stomping away in anger.

The two men pulled apart.

Severus swallowed hard. He wasn't sure what to say, if he should say something. He quickly removed his hand from Master's, but wasn't sure where to put it. He felt inclined to sit on it, but the move would seem unnatural. He settled for tucking it underneath his opposite upper arm, as if that looked any more natural.

His heartbeat only increased, and he was quite sure he wasn't getting enough oxygen to his brain. That had to be the only explanation, for both his physical symptoms and the act that had almost occurred. Paris was the city of love for a reason, after all. Perhaps there was something wrong with the atmosphere, so that there was less oxygen, encouraging rash behaviour from its population.

While Severus was racking his mind for a scientific explanation, Master stood. He didn't speak, or offer his hand to Severus like he normally might of. He simply waited for Severus to follow suit, so that they could walk back to the hotel together in silence.

If they hadn't paid attention to the attractions and sights in Paris before, they most certainly weren't paying attention now. They had more pressing matters occupying their minds.

_You thought you were out of your comfort zone before, _Severus realised as they quickly made their way back to the hotel._ Compared to how things are going to change, you were very mistaken._

**Coming Up Next In _Unwell...  
Chapter Eighty-Eight: Ideas: Decent and Worse_**

_**A/N: Thank you so much for the kind birthday wishes! Also, thanks to badgerlady for her assistance with my verb problems! I am sorry if you received this update twice, as the website was being difficult when I tried to edit the chapter.**_


	88. Actions Speak Louder Than Words

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or any character from it. I am not making any money off this story.**

**Chapter Eighty-Eight  
"Actions Speak Louder Than Words"**

* * *

In the weeks that followed Paris, Severus spent most of his time alone. It wasn't because he was angry or afraid. He wasn't avoiding Master specifically, because his reasons for being alone were not entirely to do with the man.

He needed to be alone because he needed time to think. While he enjoyed his job working with George Weasley, it was simply too noisy and required too much concentration for him to concern himself with personal matters. He thought the world of Teddy, but his constant need for attention, affection, and entertainment did not create the environment Severus needed to process his thoughts.

As a result, he spent the hours he wasn't at work in his bedroom. In a particular moment of boldness, he had once completely shut his door, locking it with a chair strategically placed underneath the door knob. Slaves were not permitted to shut doors between owners and themselves without expressed permission. The pain on his head afterwards was almost worth the act of rebellion.

After his experiences in Paris, one might assume Severus' thoughts were primary focused on them. Actually, they were scattered in many different directions. He considered his childhood, and thought about his years as an adult at length. He rationalised the events that had so drastically changed his life for good, though not necessarily for the better.

How could things have been different had he not been made a slave? That was a question he had spent much time looking at, yet was still unable to produce an honest answer to. He had lived so long as a man with a purpose, with a long-term goal. How would he have functioned once the immediate repercussions of the war had passed? He hadn't had a plan for his life. He had assumed he would die, and wouldn't have needed one. As a man approaching forty with the experience he had, what goals could he have realistically set? What hopes could he have unrealistically formed?

It was a testament to how changed he was that he couldn't begin to imagine what he might be like in those circumstances. Had he dreams at the time, Severus certainly couldn't remember them now. Had he wanted a detached house with a nice garden, a cat or dog, a spouse and children? It occurred to him that it was odd not to want those things, as they seemed to be fairly universal dreams. He had been a lonely man, but had he wanted to remain that way? He couldn't imagine that he would, but the alternative was equally unimaginable.

Now, he was the least lonely he had ever been. He had a support group of annoying Gryffindors that cared for him and meant well. He had a family, which he had never had before. The dynamics were a bit unusual, but that was what made it work. He wasn't sure that he or Master would be able to flourish in a 'normal' family setting.

When he was so unsure of the basic foundations of his life, how could he make sense of the abstract things? That was what most of his relationships were - abstract. The only exceptions were Gik and Teddy. Severus and Gik were as close as a person and cat could be. Though she had an attitude that conveyed that she thought she should be worshipped, they bore little relation to the ancient Egyptians, and were thus equals. Teddy was notably the only child Severus had ever liked. As loud and demanding as he was, his curiosity, intelligence, and pleasant facial features had long ago won Severus over. Teddy was too young to understand the feud between Severus and his natural father, Remus Lupin. He was also too young to understand slavery, and how it might change their relationship.

Initially, it would seem surprising to some that Severus described his relationship with Master as abstract. With so many rules governing their relationship, one might see it as concrete, when in reality they opened the door wide for possibility. Severus disliked that. With all of his former owners, he had known sometimes within minutes the type of relationship they had. He had been with Master for nearly two years, and he was never sure of where they stood. Their relationship was constantly evolving. In his years of working with adolescents, he had witnessed how normal human relationships frequently fluctuated and changed. He supposed it was because the people involved were changing themselves. Few of Severus' past relationships had had such a temperament, because he had rarely changed, and hadn't been close enough to anyone to be affected by theirs.

The door opened a crack, and Master stuck his head in. "Hey."

Severus barely nodded his acknowledgement. He was lying atop the blue chenille bedspread, staring at the ceiling. Whatever it was Master was about to suggest, he knew he would have no interest.

"Teddy and I are making cheese sandwiches for dinner," Master said.

Severus had eaten many cheese sandwiches made lovingly with Teddy's grubby hands, and had no desire for another. "No, thank you."

Master paused. "Severus, you haven't eaten all day. That's not like you."

That was true. Severus ate his fill every meal, regardless of whether he was hungry or not_. 'Just in case,'_ he would remind himself. No matter who assured him of it, he knew it wasn't possible to be sure of what or when his next meal would be.

Master leaned against the door frame and frowned. "You know, maybe you should shower, eat dinner, go out with me tonight. It might make you feel better."

If Master thought Severus was depressed, he was mistaken. "I don't need to shower."

"You smell like Hagrid."

"I will place a charm."

Master shook his head. "Your hair is greasy."

"It always is." Severus did not move from his spot on the bed. If he showed a complete unwillingness to cooperate, perhaps Master would take the hint.

Apparently he took the hint, but rather than making him leave, it only made him all the more stubborn. "It doesn't have to be."

"I have accepted it as my lot in life, as well as other things." Severus quietly said.

Master sighed. "Well, the babysitter will be here shortly. I think meeting you when you're like this will make her uncomfortable."

It wouldn't matter what his state was. Meeting Severus made everyone uncomfortable. It always had. As a teacher he had used that in his favour. As a slave, it made things inconvenient as best.

When Master said 'like this', he was referring to the way Severus had been behaving lately. Severus hadn't taken the time to think about how his behaviour would appear to Master. No wonder the man was concerned. Together they had crossed a line in Paris, and since then Severus had isolated himself, stopped eating, stopped bathing.

In typical Master fashion, he blamed himself, Severus was sure. He wouldn't stop to consider that the situation had involved two people, both more or less responsible for their own actions at the time. He didn't see, nor did he appreciate, the multitude of grey in their relationship. Because of its ever-changing nature, and the fact that Master allowed Severus to make his own decisions, it wasn't like something that would have occurred with a former master.

Letting Master take all the credit was not something Severus was willing to do. Master took the credit for everything, good or bad, from Quidditch matches to the Dark Lord's death. It was a terrible habit, and something Severus was determined to break him of. A big head wasn't attractive on anyone. Not even Master.

"Severus?" Master interrupted his thought train. "Are you listening to a word I'm saying?"

He blinked. "I cannot tell you a lie. No, I wasn't."

Master sighed. His brows were furrowed, and he looked a lot older than his twenty years. "I'm worried about you."

That was hardly worth mentioning, as Master was always worried about Severus. "Don't. It will give you grey hair." As Master didn't take the opportunity to comment on the strands of white at Severus's temples, Severus was forced to reply in a more serious manner. "Master, if I told you I was all right, would you believe me?"

"No," Master replied. "Actions speak louder than words."

There had been needlework framed in Master Mering's sitting room with those same words.

"And my actions – or rather, lack thereof – tell you that I am lost, depressed, and have potentially lost the will to live."

His green eyes widened. Master pushed his glasses up his nose. "Well, I wouldn't go that far."

"Would you go as far as to say that 'this' is your entire fault?" Severus lay very still, waiting for the inevitable response from the-Boy-Who-Lived.

"Yes." Master somewhat sheepishly admitted.

It used to be Master's job to console Severus, or set him straight. When Severus had woke in the night screaming, Master would come in, hold him, and whisper calming things. The time Severus was quite sure that what happened at the Monster's was an elaborate nightmare, Master had patiently explained that it had been quite real. Now the tables had turned. Now it was Master that needed assured of his incorrect state of mind, by Severus of all people.

Severus groaned, pulling himself upright. The blood that had pooled in his head drained, causing momentary dizziness. He let his legs dangle on the side of the bed, before getting up and heading towards the dresser.

"What are you doing?" Master asked with suspicion in his voice.

Severus found the clothing he was looking for and shut the drawer. "Preparing to do what I do best."

When he turned around, Master had a raised brow. "What could that be? Belittling people, making small children cry…"

Those were also things Severus was excellent at. "Explaining why you're wrong."

He headed out the room and down the stairs, to the loo where he would take his first bath in at least a week. Behind him, he heard Master mutter "Oh, well, you're good at that, too."

* * *

Impatiently, Severus tapped the table. Master had descended the staircase hidden behind a bookcase in the Three Broomsticks, to have a drink with Neville Longbottom. He had asked Severus to find them, a table, order them some food, and wait.

While he was glad to have a final few minutes to sort out his thoughts before conveying them to Master, he didn't appreciate being left alone amongst so many strange wizards and witches. He couldn't help but notice the looks they gave him. Disdain when they recognized him as their former Potions professor. Disgust when they recognized him as a former Death Eater. Delight when they recognized him of the slave of the Harry Potter, the-Saviour-of-Us-All.

"Hey. Sorry about that." Master slid into the booth across from Severus. He pushed his glasses up his nose, and took a few quick sips of water. "Neville would have been hurt if I hadn't shown up for his bachelor party. I mean, just about all the blokes in our year are there. He didn't understand why I would be uncomfortable, or at least bored, getting a lap dance from a strange girl."

The last thing Severus needed to picture was Neville Longbottom and strippers. He took a very deliberate bite of his food, so Master would know Severus had eaten something. "Master, I am going to be very frank with you."

Master stilled, his face suddenly becoming very solemn. He placed his fork next to his plate, and sighed. "That's another thing you are quite skilled at."

Doctor Brown insisted that he and Master discuss their feelings. Severus didn't like that, because feelings were, like his relationships, so abstract. If you were not talented with words, you could end up conveying a message you absolutely did not mean to. You could be certain on what you were thinking, which was why Severus opted to discuss thoughts whenever possible.

Had it not been for a beautiful woman with a foul mouth, he and Master would have ended up sharing a kiss on a park bench. While that could turn most friendships into passionate affairs or awkward goodbyes, it would have done something entirely different for Master and himself. They were bound in a curious way, where "goodbyes" were not an option. But the alternative wasn't either.

Why wasn't it an option? To explain that would involve bringing feelings into the discussion, which Severus was reluctant to do. It would get far too messy too fast, without Doctor Brown to guide them. The fact that he absolutely would not bring Doctor Brown into the conversation told him enough, that the scenario he pictured was a terrible idea.

"Quite some time ago, you asked if I might like a prostitute." Severus kept his voice low, so that others in the pub could not overhear their very private conversation.

Master blinked, clearly not expecting Severus to bring that up of all things. "Right. You told me to shut up and to never speak of it again, if I remember correctly."

He was sure he hadn't said those exact words. "More or less. You did, however, recognise at the time that I am not turned off sexual or romantic affairs for the rest of my life."

Slowly, Master nodded. It drove Severus mad, wondering what the man was thinking. Thankfully, he spoke within a few moments. "I don't understand how, though. _The Road to Recovery_ says-"

Severus had had enough of that book. It had very good advice, however it wasn't the damned gospel. The book was good for general situations, but Severus' predicament was the exception to the rule. His Occlumency shields had kept him from losing himself while nearly causing him to lose his mind. His training as a slave had helped him separate events, categorising what he had suffered.

Being used, for example, was entirely different from sex. Though Severus' experiences of sexual experiences were limited, he knew enough what they were. Sex was intimate, passionate, between two consenting individuals. Being used was entirely the opposite; you were an object, a means to an end. You couldn't consent because there was nothing to consent to. As a slave you did not have that ability.

He understood that the logic was twisted, but it was his reality. It made sense to him, and he was not in a hurry to change it. That logic allowed him to behave fairly normally, because he did not feel as if he had been terribly violated. In fact, he was far more disturbed because of the terrible pain and fear he had been subjected to, than who he had been used by.

He had always been reluctant to trust people. That stemmed back far before his slavery, from when he was a small child. There were very few people Severus was able to trust implicitly, because they had always failed him one way or another. His mother, Dumbledore, Lily, Master Weston…they had all hurt him, and left him, whether intentionally or not. However, Master was clearly different. He loved Severus more than anyone ever had, and because of that went above and beyond to not only make sure Severus was safe, but to make sure he felt that way. He made himself available to him at all times, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

One could rationalise that Severus only felt this particular fondness for his master because of what he had suffered, and that might be true. He had lived a solitary life before becoming enslaved, and had never had any interest in men before. But Master wasn't a man, was he? He was Master.

"You felt this way about Weston," Master pointed out as Severus explained, tracing the watermark his glass left on the table. "You worshipped him."

Grown men did not often cry in front of others as habit. However, Severus had that lifelong habit drilled out of him long ago. Now, he felt inclined to cry frequently, and it was only an incredible amount of self-restraint that stopped him. Every time Master Weston was brought up, he had to fight the urge to cry. However, he wasn't inclined to cry because of heartbreak or because he missed the man. It was because the man betrayed him. Betrayal was the worst feeling in the world.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "That was different. After leaving Master Mering's, I had frightened and beaten down. I hadn't yet reached my low-point. While Mistress treated me badly, Master would pet my hair and feed me treats."

"Like an owl." Master was disgusted.

Yes, like an owl. Or like a pet, which was what he had been called. "It was affection, which I was starved for at that point. He had me eating out of his hand, both literally and figuratively, because of that. He knew that. He wasn't content to have a slave that complied with his orders out of obligation. He wanted me to worship him, and he succeeded. Whether he considered it a game or art, he was very talented at it."

Extremely talented at it, because even though he had betrayed Severus so terribly, he still had a fierce loyalty for the man that he took care to regularly squash.

"I pet your hair," Master pointed out. "I let you sleep in my bed, and eat food from the table."

He didn't do them as Master Weston had, to make Severus love him. He did those things because he loved Severus. That made all the difference in the world.

Severus reached out and took Master's hands, so that the man would stop picking at his fingernails and look at him. "I understand that this is confusing. I do not know what you are thinking, what inspired you to act as you did. In any case, you can ignore what I've told you. I understand that you have to."

Of course Master had to. Severus was twice his age, and hadn't ever been considered attractive. He had a long list of personality traits, some of them conflicting but all of them undesirable. He was a lowly slave, and would only be desired by someone fairly desperate. Master was a young man with multiple overflowing vaults, hailed as a hero, and with a chocolate frog card. He could have anyone he wanted.

Master sighed. He had barely touched his food. "I've considered giving you away."

Until that moment, Severus had never fully understood the feeling of one's heart dropping into one's stomach. He pulled his hands away, staring at the man. The feelings he felt at the thought of Master Weston began to stir in him. He tried to speak, but found that he couldn't.

Master looked at him, green eyes sad behind his lenses. "I made a terrible mistake when I bought you. I love you so much, and because of that I'm glad I did. But it was dumb. Andromeda had just died, and you were so unpredictable. I quit school, adopted Teddy, and brought you into my home in the span of several days. That was incredibly irresponsible of me, to both you and Teddy. I didn't realize that until recently."

He had considered giving Severus away. Giving him away. To be given away was the ultimate form of degradation. A slave could be tortured, humiliated, used, exposed, and forced to sleep in their own filth. That was acceptable. To be given away lowered the only claim a slave had, their personal value. The expression of total amount paid divided by number of owners resulted in a high amount in Severus' case, despite his large amount of owners because of how much Master had paid for him. To be given away, as Severus practically had been to the Monster, but by Master?

Losing Master would be something Severus could never recover from. It would be personal, and without a doubt the most painful thing he had ever experienced. Master might as well give him away to a breeder, because he would be rendered incapable of much activity. They had considered him mad when he was first brought into Master's home, but would find out that that was nothing comparatively.

Master produced a coloured handkerchief, and passed it to Severus without comment. "Since the day I bought you, I've told you that you can trust me. And you have. You've trusted me, even when I gave you absolutely no reason to. But you can't anymore, obviously."

Because Master had leaned in on the park bench. One action, and Master had deemed himself untrustworthy. It was incredibly annoying how the man could take something that occurred between two people, and turn it into something all about him. It was infuriating, but it was also something Severus had become to appreciate about him.

"I procured the paperwork last week," Master admitted, staring down at his lap. "It's been setting on my desk at work, but I haven't even begun to fill it out, or ask George if he'd take you. It's selfish of me. I'm procrastinating because I love you too much to lose you, but when you love someone you're supposed to be able to let them go, I reckon."

Master George was already designated as Master's replacement. In the event that Master died, Severus was supposed to live with him. It was why Severus took care to always respectfully address the man as "master", because someday he could be. He didn't intend on being owned by him while Master was still living, however.

One of the unique things about the relationship Master and Severus had built was that Severus was actually quite in control of things. Master was very concerned to make sure Severus did things because he wanted to, not because he had things. It was one of his priorities to make sure Severus felt safe. For example, one the first day Master had bought Severus, he had spent a long time bathing him rather than casting cleansing spells on him. He was sure it had been hard work and disgusting, but he had done it because Severus was more afraid of wands than he was water. Whereas most owners would touch Severus no matter how Severus reacted, Master moved carefully, and would stop at any protest.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before he spoke. "Master, giving me away is not an option. We have worked through more difficult things before, and we will work through this one. Out of all the things we have learned together since first meeting, I do believe the most significant one is not giving up, even when the road ahead looks impossible."

His little speech seemed to catch Master off-guard, which was pleasing. It gave Severus time to consider the developments.

If Master gave them away, their family would be destroyed. Master would never be the same, and neither would Severus. Teddy was young enough that he mightn't suffer any repercussions, but he loved Severus possibly more than he did Master. He would be so confused for months before he forgot about him.

However, they were treading on dangerous ground. Severus had been very open about how he felt about Master, but Master had said little about his personal thoughts and feelings. Perhaps he didn't have to. The fact that his knee-jerk reaction was to give Severus away for his safety said a lot. After all, actions did speak louder than words.

A/N: _I have written, rewritten, and yet again rewritten this chapter so many times, by now I have lost count. Most drafts were by hand, and needed typed up to my computer, taking even longer. I appreciate your patience so much! I was not happy with the draft I posted, so Vine Verrine helped me rewrite it yet again – thank you so much, Vine!_

_Also, nearly a year ago, someone drew __Unwell__ the most fantastic illustration, which I forgot to share with all of you because of my unexpected hiatus. I cannot link it here, but if you go to the website DeviantArt and search for "unwell" by the artist Thrumugnyr, you may find it. Thank you so much again, Thrumugnyr – I look at that beautiful picture every day and still marvel at it! And thank you again to everyone else. You all make me smile._


	89. SPEW

******UPDATE: **_The previous chapter chapter has been redrafted for the final time (the second half). It is not entirely necessary to reread to understand the story, though recommended. I don't mean to be inconsiderate, as I know your time is valuable, but the situation called for it. Thank you, Vine, Verrine, for walking me through it! I could not have done it without your help.__  
_

******Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or any character from it. I am not making any money off this story.**

**Chapter Eighty-Nine**  
**"S.P.E.W."**

* * *

It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to blink. He was so tired that he felt nauseas. He felt dizzy, and it seemed each step he took would leave him on the ground with a broken ankle. Every day, he went to work thinking it would get easier, or less exhausting.

It never did.

All he wanted was to get home and crawl into bed. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy. Though he was too tired to eat, it was his responsibility as a parent to make sure Teddy had a proper dinner. With their home so heavily warded, delivery was not an option, so someone would have to make an attempt to cook. And then, he would feel guilty if he didn't spend time with Teddy. He spent too few hours with him as it was. It wasn't fair to Teddy or himself. It also wouldn't be fair to Severus, if he was left to watch the toddler while Harry napped.

The past couple years of his life had revolved around being fair to Severus, however the past week had brought that to the spotlight. Since their dinner in the Three Broomsticks, Harry had had several emergency appointments with Doctor Brown. He had stopped seeing her personally some time ago, since the Dreamless Sleep situation resolved. But that was before Paris, before Severus had admitted to caring for him as more than a master, and as more than as a friend.

To his surprise, she hadn't told him he was a terrible person when he admitted to her how he felt. She had berated him for telling Severus he had considered giving him away, though. Apparently it was only natural that he would have considered giving him away, but telling Severus about it was crossing a line. Yet he was expected to be completely honest with him. She told him that she expected him to use common sense. He wondered if he had any.

While Harry preferred to pretend nothing had changed, Severus opted to take a completely different route. Doctor Brown had said she hadn't told Severus anything, but he didn't believe her. Severus knew Harry felt the same way he did, and as Doctor Brown was the only one who knew, she had have leaked him information. He didn't do anything unusual, other than keep a certain physical distance from him that they had since returning from abroad. It was the little things he said, often in a humourous light, that told Harry he knew. It made it difficult for Harry to be in denial.

He was in line at the Floo, waiting his turn to throw the powder in and return home. His brain was overwhelmed with what he had to do over the next several months to pass the Auror Training Programme, and he wasn't paying too much attention to his surroundings. That is, until a familiar voice called his name.

"Oi! Harry!"

Harry turned to see Ron jogging towards him. Ron had always been fit, but the Auror Training Programme had proved to be exceptionally good for him. He was sunburned, though from what Harry had no idea. It pained Harry that he didn't, because Ron was supposed to be not only his first friend, but his closest. Ron was a brother, and yet Harry had barely seen or spoken to him in a month.

Ron gave Harry a quick one-armed hug. "How the hell are you? I've been meaning to catch you for weeks now, but time gets away from me."

He tried to smile, but his facial muscles were tired, too. "I'm good. Well, tired, but that's not new."

Ron frowned. His eyes searched Harry. "Are you okay, mate?"

What Ron really wanted to know was if Harry had gone back to taking Dreamless Sleep. He wasn't tired because he wasn't sleeping. He was tired because being responsible for so many things left him feeling overwhelmed. He was tired because the Auror Training Programme had him running for sixteen hours a day, using every bit of energy his body was capable of producing to cast spells, deflect curses, and write lengthy reports.

Still, he wouldn't tell Ron that. "Yeah. Are you getting ready to finish the programme?" His friend only had a week left, before he would be declared an Auror.

"Yeah," Ron beamed. "Hey, you want to pop by our flat tonight? Hermione is having one of her Spew meetings, and I'm obligated to stick around for support. There'll be food there. You can bring Severus and Shorty."

Teddy had learned in day-care that he was a 'big boy', and would object to the nickname the Weasley boys had placed over his head. Still, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "Teddy would just be a distraction to the other members, and it's too late to get a babysitter on such short notice."

"Did you not hear me mention food?" Ron raised a brow.

Every month, Hermione sent Harry invitations to attend the meetings for S.P.E.W . Although the cause was to promote freedom for all individuals, no longer just house-elves, the unfortunate name had stuck. Harry hadn't been to a Spew meeting in years, since he bought Severus. He doubted they would be as boring as they used to be, considering that they had actual members now, and the discussions were far more relevant to Harry than they ever had been. But since he had a slave, going to the meetings would be hypocritical.

Besides, he was _so tired_.

"I heard you, Ron." He tiredly said, moving up in the line. "Maybe next time, 'kay? Give me a date, and I'll put it on my calendar or…something."

That wasn't good enough for Ron. "Look, I know you have responsibilities, but it's important you come. Hermione has sent you more than one invitation for this one. They're going to be discussing some pretty serious stuff, I reckon."

"You _reckon_? Don't you and Hermione talk about these things?" Harry picked up a handful of Floo powder.

If Ron flushed, you couldn't tell underneath his pink skin. "We do. I just sometimes don't really listen. Look, promise me you'll show, okay? Mum would love to take Teddy. I'll ask her for you."

"Don't-"Harry protested. He didn't want to be a burden to Mrs. Weasley, and he also wanted to stay home and relax.

Ron wouldn't take "no" for an answer. "See you at 6:30, Harry." He disappeared in the sea of people leaving the Ministry after a hard day's work.

One thing Harry had learned about relationships since leaving Hogwarts was that they took work to maintain. As a student, they flourished naturally because they saw each other every day. As an adult, it wasn't that easy. If you didn't put in effort, you would end up seeing each other only twice a year, when dropping and picking up kids at King's Cross. Hermione had put in plenty of effort in the past, with Spew invitations, bringing by dinner, and planning Weasley family outings that Harry rarely attended.

That meant it was time for Harry to step up, and remember that the Floo worked both ways, even if it meant falling asleep during the meeting.

* * *

Severus rubbed his eyes. He had spent all day going over a formula, trying to figure out where they were going wrong. It was complex, going far beyond the simple algebraic ones most learned in Potions class if they did not obtain their N.E.W.T.S. It was important that they get that particular product right, because Master George was in talks with a distributor to make it available in joke shops across the country. In the past, he had prevented the world from shattering into pieces, from genocide occurring in a way it never had before. He would feel mighty foolish if he could not figure out a single formula.

A knock on the door broke his concentration. He turned to snap at Master George for the interruption when he saw Master, balancing Teddy on his waist.

He inclined his head. Panic raced through his body. Master had never come to visit him at work before. Surely he had gotten the note Severus had left on the table, indicating that he would be working late. Something had to be wrong. "What are you doing here?"

Master sighed. "I'm on my way to the Burrow to drop Teddy off. I've been roped into attending a Spew meeting. Would you like to come with?"

Spew, Master's name for Hermione's pro-freedom group. Originally labelled the Society for Protection of Elvish Welfare, it had garnered quite a few chuckles from Hogwarts staff when she had first debuted it as a youngster. However, now that the existence of slaves was well-known by Wizarding public, and was being used as a means of punishments for terrorists, the organisation was gaining some respect. It was not uncommon for Hermione to be labelled as a consultant for many newspaper articles.

Obviously, Severus had some invested opinions in the topic. Slavery was a topic he knew a lot about. Though he desired change in how it was used in their society, he lacked any ability to do something about it. Slaves had absolutely no power in the Wizarding world, not even ones owned by Harry Potter.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Severus peered through a vial, trying to discern any flax fragments in the potion. "If you are, I must admit I am disappointed. I was hoping for something a bit more romantic." Since their supper at the Three Broomsticks, Severus had found it most entertaining to bring it up at random invterals, just to see Master's reactions. He was blessed that Master failed to realise that if one stopped reacting, the instigator would stop. It made for limitless fun.

Master bristled. "Look, if you don't want to come, don't. You don't have to be condescending. I just thought I'd ask. Forget about it."

That attitude was most unlike Master. The man was human, and had a temper, however he usually reserved it for obnoxious people in his workplace and paparazzi. Though it was human nature to hurt those you were closest to, Master rarely spoke that way to Severus. He valued too much how his words might be taken by him.

He looked back at his formulas, and exhaled. Master George would have to wait at least another day before Severus made any sort of progress. Right now, there were things more important than potions.

A meeting of young radicals and hipsters, determined to change the world through bake sales and fundraisers. Severus would serve as nothing more than a circus act, or an example to be made of at best. He hadn't been to Hermione's flat in ages, since Master was still denying his sexuality by being with that awful woman, Mistress Di'Angelo. From what he remembered, it would be clean, but crowded and noisy, what with university students living nearby, and being far too close to the train.

But Master would be there, and Severus was assuming that there would be food. There were ways to make the best out of a bad situation.

He emptied his vials, and hurried after Master, catching him just before he entered the Floo. "Wait."

He turned, pushing his glasses up his nose. Master's eyes had dark bags underneath them, and his hair was even more wild than usual. He was pale, and looked like he needed a good night's sleep. The stress of his life had to be getting to him. "What is it?"

"Sev'rus!" Teddy reached his arms out so that he almost fell out of Master's arms. His hair was black, as dark as Severus' and Master's. As Teddy was young, he had no way of understanding that as far as hair role models went, they were the poorest of examples.

Severus rubbed his stained hands on his trousers to no avail, before taking him. "I am not hard to please. Just because I am disappointed with your delivery doesn't mean I am going to turn you down altogether."

Master smiled, tiredly. "Misery loves company, right?"

Why they so often interjected themselves into situations inspiring misery, Severus would never know. One might label them masochists if Severus' past did not make that entirely unfunny. "Right."

They ducked into the fireplace. As Master prepared to drop the powder, he had one more thing to add. "And it was only so unromantic because I was nervous. A man like me gets jittery around one of your stature."

"If you're going to flatter me, you're going to have to do better than that," Severus said.

As Master dropped the powder, he might have muttered "damn" before calling out for their destination. It was a miracle they arrived at the Burrow instead of Burrator dam.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione flung herself into Master's arms as she typically did.

The amount of people in the flat was remarkable. Severus had expected four or five people, but not closer to fifteen. They were mostly young, save a couple in their forties wearing bright floral shirts, and an elderly gentleman. They milled about, eating crisps and raw vegetables off of paper plates, and gossiping to each other about that week's headlines.

He crossed his arms over his chest. Paying careful attention only to the floor, he crossed the room to the only other familiar face.

"Hey!" Ron was practically jovial as he invited Severus to take a seat at the table. "Firewhiskey?"

Gratefully, Severus accepted both offers. "It is…rather full in here."

"It is." Ron agreed. "Her lease is up next month, so I think we're gonna get a new place. When she first moved in, she lived alone. She said it was a perfect size, because we weren't going to live together until we were married, or at least older. Well, we're older, and it's kind of too small. And this is coming from the guy who grew up in the Burrow."

Severus made a noncommittal noise. Though he appeared and felt normal in many settings, others still gave him unease. He was terribly claustrophobic, and had to focus on the floor to avoid making eye contact with so many people. It was like the childish perspective Teddy had when playing games, that if he couldn't see them, perhaps they couldn't see him.

Ron's voice changed, in the way everyone's did when they noticed he was uncomfortable. Their pitch and tone went from natural to as if they were comforting a small child. "If this is too much, you can go hide out in our room. There are loads of books in there, even a telly. You could listen in to the meeting, or-"

He was fine. If he could work at Weasley Wizard Wheezes, if he could testify at Lucius Malfoy's trial, if he could dance the delicate dance he and Master were currently, he could survive in a flat full of strangers.

"Hey." Master came over, both of his hands quickly taking both of Severus'. "It's, um, kind of crowded in here."

He removed one of his hands from Master's to take a sip of the burning liquid that was guaranteed to help him through the night. "If you're uncomfortable, we could go home."

"If you-" Master stopped, while Ron snorted. "God, everyone seems to have a sense of humour tonight. Everyone wants to pick on me for some reason."

"We're not laughing at you, we're laughing with you." Ron poured Master some Firewhiskey. "You just need to start laughing."

By the time Hermione called the meeting to order, there was enough alcohol in Severus' system so that the crowd didn't bother him as much. When he realised the shortage of available seating in the room, he insisted Master take a seat, before sitting as his feet. The Firewhiskey gave him the ability to not care about the glares people in the room were giving Master for daring to let Severus showcase his proper place.

"Everybody, this is Harry and Severus." Hermione indicated to the both of them. "Severus, Harry, this is everybody."

Master awkwardly squirmed. "Hello everybody."

While the members discussed their old business, pertaining to press releases, certain columnists, and a wealthy slave owner in Wales, Severus paid careful attention. He did not know enough about the particular issues to make comment, but it occurred to him as the idealists spoke that they needed someone in the group who actually knew first-hand of what they were talking about. For example, they were talking about buying out a man who owned no fewer than three female slaves of a childbearing age. They had no idea that it was _impossible_ to buy him out. Their value far exceeded what anyone could pay for them, because of the amount of children his slaves could produce for him to sell off or keep as slaves. It wasn't as simple as buying them from him and keeping them from reproducing to limit the amount of slaves in the world – people had tried that over the years, with poor results. They often ended up bankrupt, miserable, and disrespected by society, or imprisoned. Nine times out of ten, the slaves ended up dead.

"New business." Hermione declared half an hour later. "Mr. Peabody, would you like to lead the discussion?"

The man wearing the bright floral shirt spoke. "Thank you Hermione. Since we have begun attending S.P.E.W. meetings six months ago, it has become clear to us – Mrs. Peabody and I – that our priority is not limiting the laws of what people can do to slaves, or keeping them out of the wrong hands. As long as slavery is a legal practise in our country, they will be there and there will be nothing we can do to control it."

Master's hands found their ways to Severus' shoulders and squeezed. Severus placed a hand over his master's as he listened.

"You cannot control what someone else does to their property, which is what slaves are."

That elicited a groan from the group. "They are not property. They are human beings." A young girl with dreadlocks interjected.

"Yes, however in the eyes of the law they are mere cattle." Mr. Peabody reminded them all.

Severus was used to being spoken about as if he were not in the room. Dumbledore had had a fondness for doing that, and as a slave it was seen as a non-issue. In the first couple months Master had owned him, he was often spoken about while in the room, usually because the speakers were not entirely certain he was coherent enough to understand. Or they assumed he did not care what they were saying, which he hadn't at the time.

He was quite comfortable being owned by Master. He understood that he was his property, and bore no shame over that fact. Still, he did not appreciate the constant use of "they", nor did he appreciate being compared to common cattle.

"What are you saying, Peabody?" Ron took his eyes off his crisps. Apparently he participated more in these meetings than he liked to claim, likely to save his own reputation amongst friends.

"I'm saying that unless we find a way to prove that slaves deserve a salary, or find a way to remove their enslavement curses, our efforts will be in vain." Mr. Peabody said.

Not entirely in vain. If the organisation could help one person, then that was a wonderful thing. S.P.E.W. had saved Severus from certain doom, which he was incredibly grateful towards. Every other Death Eater slave would be certain to feel the same way, except that raised a question of ethics: were Death Eater slaves deserving of being helped? Hadn't they asked for the punishment they had received? Would it be unnecessarily cruel to take them out of the torture they had suffered to place them in Azkaban?

That raised even more questions in Severus' mind. He had met many slaves in his life, and doubted many of them wanted freedom. Again, he was reminded of Plato's Cave. If given the opportunity to be free, most would turn back to their comfort zone and decline the offer. Would they be wrong to force freedom on slaves, who had grown up knowing nothing else? That also seemed unnecessarily cruel.

Master's thoughts seemed to be in the same vein. "I disagree. I think we should try making the enslavement of anyone else, including the children of slaves, illegal. But taking the ones that are already in that position out of it seems like a bad idea."

"That's rich, coming from you." Dreadlocks Girl snorted in derision. "You're just saying that so you can keep Severus waiting on you hand and foot."

"Hey!" Ron objected loudly, mouth full of crisps.

Though Severus could not see his master, it seemed the man took her comments in stride. "I am not. I love Severus, and will do whatever it takes to give him happiness. Some slaves might claim to want freedom, but they don't know what it really entails. They don't know about balancing a chequebook or how to make important decisions or how to ask someone on a date."

Those were not problems limited only to slaves. Master had enough gold so that he never paid attention to his vault balance. And he had proved just earlier that evening how terrible he was at asking one out.

"Then they can learn." Mrs. Peabody said. "We can set up classes, taught in groups or one-on-one. We could assign each slave a mentor, to guide them through all areas of life."

That would require a lifelong commitment from the mentor. That would be quite a thing to commit to, especially from the majority of S.P.E.W., who were under the age of thirty-years-old.

"That is, if we could find a way to reverse the spell." Hermione chimed back in, taking control over the situation before it spiralled into an attack on Master. "There's been a lot of research on it by various groups in the past, but it is very spotty, badly organised, and simply badly executed at times. I don't know a lot about spell creation, much less reversal, however, there are some in our midst who do know quite a bit about it."

_Of course. _He had been lured and trapped, by Gryffindors no less. Their motives for wanting Master and Severus both here were suddenly very clear.

All eyes on them, Severus suddenly began to desire more Firewhiskey. He was not used to speaking in front of people he did not know well.

"No." Master tightened his grip on Severus' shoulder. "I won't make him do that."

"You have a conflict of interest." Dreadlock Girl rudely stated. "If you are so supportive of slave rights, let yours speak."

Dreadlock Girl did not stop to consider that perhaps Severus was more than comfortable letting Master take centre stage.

He took a deep breath, speaking very carefully so that his voice did not waver. "My master's opinion of this matter is irrelevant to the fact that I cannot do what you are asking."

"You can't?" Hermione asked, gently. "I know it would take a long time to research, possibly years, but no spell except the Killing Curse is completely irreversible."

That much was true. However, some spells were so intricate that they might as well be. "I am not saying that this is an impossible spell to counter. It may be possible, but asking a slave to do it is, as she says," he motioned to Dreadlock Girl, "a conflict of interest. Even if my master ordered me to do it, I doubt I could. Trying to reverse the spell is akin to trying to escape from my master, or even harming him. If my bond did not kill me while I tried, it would certainly render my efforts useless."

"However," he said, "I do know a bit about spell creation and reversal. I am willing to impart my knowledge on the subject to Ron, Hermione, and Mr. and Mrs. Peabody, if they should so desire. There are also contacts I might introduce them to, to further educate them on the matter."

"What about us?" Dreadlock Girl interrupted. "Why wouldn't you share this information with the rest of us?"

Severus looked at her coolly. "Because I don't like you."

Two Firewhiskeys and one half hour later, the meeting was adjourned. Most of the members left, citing an early morning and children as reasons to hurry home. Others lingered, to berate Master for owning a slave, or thank him for his work in helping one. Due to those reasons, Severus and Master were amongst the last to leave.

"Wow." Master said, joining hands with Severus as they walked down the stairs of Hermione's building. "Are they really going to try and-"

"-they are." Severus was surprised the day hadn't come earlier. One would have thought the activists would have been researching the counter-curse since the punishment was announced by the Ministry for Magic. "I must admit, Master, that you chose a very interesting locale for our first date."

"Oh, God." Master rolled his eyes. "You're going to insist on commemorating this as a date, aren't you?"

Severus smirked. "Not just any date. Our first."

"Commemorate this: sometimes, I think I might hate you."

"Duly noted."

* * *

The water pressure in the master bedroom was high, so that the hot water beat hard against your back. Hermione complained that it made you feel like you were getting shot, but Harry loved it.

Still, he was beyond exhausted now, and needed nothing more than to crawl into bed. Though tomorrow was Saturday, Severus had already committed to going to George's. He had Owled their regular babysitter to come watch Teddy for a few hours in the morning, so that he could sleep in. It made him feel a bit guilty that he had to do that, but it was only temporary. Someday, he would be out of the Programme and be able to be a better dad.

Right now, he wasn't any good to anyone half-dead.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, and opened the bathroom door. He had sauntered across the room, and was about to throw the towel over a chair before he realised he wasn't alone. Two black eyes appeared from the mound of blankets on Harry's unmade bed.

"Christ, Severus. Don't do that." Harry's heart beat rapidly, startled. It was one thing for Severus to walk across the room nude, but it was quite another for Harry to do the same. There were double-standards in their relationship for good reason, especially now that the tone of it had begun to change.

"I could not sleep." Severus' words were barely discernible from underneath the covers.

Nearly every other night, Severus would go downstairs or knock on Harry's door, with a thinly veiled excuse of why he couldn't sleep. That usually translated to Gik being nowhere to be found, and Severus either being worried about her or lonely. That problem was solved with the chip Harry had secretly had implanted in her ear, so that he could track her. He didn't dare tell Severus however, as the Mark on Severus' forehead served as a 'chip' of its own, and he figured he might be too sensitive about the topic.

"Gik is curled up next to your perch. You know, the one I put by your window so you can use it as a raven, which you've used about two times." Harry grabbed some shorts, and went into the bathroom to slip them on behind a cracked door.

"Your gift was given with good intentions," Severus said, poking his head out of his fort of covers. "This isn't about Gik, though."

Harry knew he was selfish. He knew it, and it was one of those things he was working on. He just didn't feel like discussing any earth-shattering issues at the moment. He wanted to sleep, and he wasn't sure he could do that with Severus in his bed. Once, it had been all right. Now, he wondered if it was crossing a line.

_He's the one in your bed. If he's uncomfortable, he can get out. He knows that._ Common sense prevailed, and he got into bed, taking most of the covers from his friend.

"It's about the way I asked you out. Good God, stop being such a diva. I'll bring you flowers next time, and take you to a nice restaurant."

The corners of Severus' mouth lifted slightly. "I am worried that Spew will succeed in their efforts to find a counter-curse."

"I knew that was coming." Harry folded his glasses, and placed them on his bedside table. "Mind if I _Nox_ the lights?"

Severus lay still in the dark. "I have never seriously entertained the thought until now. What if they do?"

Harry hadn't given it much thought since leaving the meeting, and there were a couple of reasons why. "It doesn't concern us, Severus. If they found a counter-curse, it would probably be illegal to perform on slaves without going through a lot of legal hoopla. For Death Eaters, they are being punished, meaning it would never be reversed. At the very minimum, the Ministry would leave it up to individual owners, who all would laugh at the idea." He thought the members of S.P.E.W. had good hearts, but the majority of them weren't equipped to deal with the reality of the situation. They didn't spend every waking moment of their lives considering the welfare of a slave, and couldn't understand all the factors that went into it until they at least tried.

The room became silent, save for the ticking clock on the wall. For a moment, Harry thought maybe Severus fell asleep. He was relieved for an easy way out, and closed his eyes to sleep himself when Severus spoke.

"If it became an option, would you want me to be free?" Severus asked. "I wouldn't want to burden you."

_So much for sleeping._ "Severus, I am way too tired for this ridiculousness. You are not a burden. I love you, and you're going to live here until I die."

"_You_ die?" Severus intoned. "One might think I would die first."

"If you don't let me get some sleep, it could go either way. You'll be the death of me, or I'll have to strangle you if you don't let me alone." He tried to inject some humour into his words so that Severus would know that he was partially kidding, but wasn't sure if he was succeeding.

Severus climbed out of the bed. "Are we still going to Doctor Brown's tomorrow?"

_Shit_. He had forgotten about their appointment. "Um, yes. At two o'clock."

"I will get home from work by one then. Goodnight, Master."

"G'night." Harry burrowed himself under his covers. His whole body ached, and his mouth felt dry. He was starting to feel a bit chilled. It occurred to him to take a Pepper-Up potion, but that would require the effort of getting out of bed. He closed his eyes, and tried to not think about things so that he could sleep.

He had thought Severus had left the room, but dry lips hesitantly brushing his cheek told him otherwise. He peeked over the mountain of covers, just in time to see Severus' shadow exiting the room.


End file.
